The Nights

I’ve been a lover of nights for the longest time, even the more temperamental ones. I’ve seen tough nights and easy ones, that slipped past me with the best of sleep, and the worst of the lot. Some are sounded by the comforting pitter-patter of raindrops to accompany my tears, some filled by swift winds that lift my spirits as they do the leaves of the tallest trees. Nights are when my flaws come out to play in the dark and the real me finally breathes like a dragon into the darkest of nights. The nights have gotten darker since then. Before there were stars, now just airplanes.

My writing improves by night, a peculiarity. Maybe it’s the silence except for heavy breaths and snores from my family. Maybe it’s the heightened senses or the fact that it’s the light’s time to shine. One always appreciates light more at night. It is when the world finally retires that my mind, naughty as it is, decides to take flight. It dances around the moon with lines from unwritten poems playing a song only known to my mind. And my heart places its weight in my lap to gauge how I must feel, to feel the pain much closer to almost feel it in the palms of my hands.

Something about the day hides what becomes clear in the night. Even amidst dancing shadows that dance to the tunes of the poems recited inside my head I like the cool of the night. The lack of activity makes me active. It’s the fear that you are being watched that makes the night exciting. The fear to go down the stairs to take a sip of water, or just to make it past the marble squares to the washroom, playing a quick but groggy hopscotch over the cold tiles so that the monsters under the bed don’t catch you.

But every night is different, and these days, darker dreams paint darker pictures in my mind. The happiness is somehow sucked, recurring dreams and troubled turning under warmer blankets, play my only protection. I shed a tear or two over the lack of sleep trying to tune my breathing to the winds that whisper gibberish in my ears. I try to see in the dark and I don’t know why. Am I trying to look for something or look out? I can never tell. I ponder my life in flashbacks, some hurtful, some awkward but mostly meaningless. I talk back to the voices I hear and tell them, “Maybe some other day.” It gets harder every time they ask, to deny them the pleasure. I fear that one day I may give in, so I bite my lip, imagining the worst. Yet, my heart beats faster, telling me in its panic that I must trust it. I do…..for now.

My nights used to end in sweet twilights, filled with metallic sounds of metallic alarms waking up the house. I once used to relish the twilight, the perfect time to get work done. But now I clench fists around my blankets a little tighter knowing that the day is near and I must adjust to the light. I must steady myself and do what is demanded. A day can’t pass without the night and a night without the day. They make the picture-perfect couple, don’t they? They follow one another, don’t leave each other’s side, don’t break promises, and have covered the “forever” part brilliantly. It makes me smile, and sad at the same time and I wish I could tell you why maybe some other day.

My favourite time of the day was the night, that stretches like a blanket over the sky giving my personality cover to play house under. I wish it still was when I would be my most vulnerable and my most delicate. As an insomniac, I wish I could tell you I still radiate at night, give out light and let my shadows keep watch for me, where my house becomes my palace, and somewhere in this game of life, I get to play Queen. There goes my crown.


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