Conversations in a Dark Room

I wouldn't say there's a party in my head,
but there are a few small groups
talking quietly with drinks in their hands,
in the shade of tall potted plants.
They're wearing black.
It's almost like a funeral,
surrounded by people I knew years ago
and have never seen again.
I practice saying the things
I wish I'd said then.
Not that it would have made a difference.
Most of them I don't even miss,
it's just this general feeling of wishing
they could see me now,
but I don't want to draw atention
to the things I still haven't figured out.