Memoirs of the Night

I have three elements to my night. The stillness, a breeze, and YOU. An empty canvas stretching away in the darkness of time, to be filled by the solitude of the night's silence, fuelled by a gust of hope in the name of a breeze, followed by the firm yet gentle touch of your hand on my shoulder.

I looked up, and stare at the black velvet dome of the night sky spattered randomly by little dots of white with ever-changing crystalline edges, an ever-growing bubble of empty thought through which memories made and memories to be made zip across like little cars with little people in them, rushing to get to their little jobs, to make little money, do little things and find little happiness. And I feel your bubble bumping mine, sometimes urging and sometimes asking. Sometimes it feels strange to be all alone, but not quite alone, and yet still alone.

Under the cover of darkness, your eyes bore into mine, and mine into yours, asking questions that were never meant to be asked. And from your voice, and the way your lips feel on mine, and the curve of your cheek against my palm, I wonder what your face is like. The words you say trickle and gather in my mind, and sparkle like light spring rain puddling on dry, cracked earth. As my hands meet happily around your back, my head blissfully resting on your chest. In the tranquil vigil of a hushed night, your spellbound breathing matches my becalmed pulse, a lone drummer playing his metronomic mezzo-staccato beat.

After the glaring accusations that daylight points at us, we seek refuge in night's folds, starcrossed by the anxious, probing eyes of those who bear us ill-will. In the detachment of the darkness, when we walk down the dusty streets, winds whistle our names in rebel songs. And though the sounds of the night should make us anxious, it's really much too late when the fear is gone. Often we fight, wary that our bubbles not get too close, yet even more often we hold each other close, content in the seclusion of night that we are afforded then everyday.

In the appraising light of day we try not to be judgemental, and accept that we are what we are. The aura around you envelops me in a very different luster during the day. The beguiling approach of sunset comes as a pain balm soaking through the dull, lifeless pain. And by the time night has completely covered the proceedings, we hold each other close, and smile again. I kiss you a gentle goodnight, and lay back to look through my mind the obsidian quartz sky, my arm on your chest, with your scent filling my bubble, our hearts talking to each other in an unknown pulse language, making up for another day gone by in almost anarchic indecision.