Friday, September 21, 2007

The pull of night.

It's late.

All the warm bodies in the house are asleep. Leaving just me, alone. The waves outside are crashing just inaudibly beyond reach. It's unsettlingly quiet.

And dark. Too many big trees and too little city to set the night aglow. My computer screen is giving off an eerie whiteish-blue light and I can see my hands typing away at the keys but I feel disconnected to them.

I am alone. But I am not at all lonely.

And these detached hands just keep on typing.

There are windows in every room and in them I can see the vague reflection of my body and as I pace restlessly, my chest bursts with tiny firefly lights. They come out with the rain, lighting depthless dark with fleeting green.

And when I step out onto the porch it is almost two a.m. and I can see further into the pitch black night than I ever could in the daylight.

I am motionless, can feel the Earth turning on its axis. Slowly, pulling deeply, I can. Almost. Hear. My. Own. Breath.


Peter DeWolf said...

It takes real skill to make insomnia sound so poetic and inviting.

Charles said...

Every night is like that for me since I've gotten here. It's becoming too peaceful for me. As my friends and I would say, your writing is titties. This is perhaps the worst way of saying something is great.

country roads said...


Hellafied said...

Peter: I'm back! We can now resume our steamy IM love affair.

Chuck: Did I mention how awesomefest it is that you are back blogging?

Country: I've been meaning to tell you how much I appreciate your comments. Thanks for the consistency!