Filed under: art/writing
Have you ever stopped to consider the time of day you are most open? The people you are most open with? Your drinking buddy, your 3rd shift co-worker, your long-distance friend who you chat with at 3am. The person you call in the middle of the night because you can’t sleep, and they’ll always listen to you.
Somehow, it seems appropriate to share our secrets in the middle of the night. Under the cover of darkness, we unfurl like dirty flowers. We revel in the solidarity of insomnia; in the hours in which we ought to be dreaming, we are alight with wishes, pipe dreams, and all the things we are ashamed of in daylight. Bubbles of trust in the dark — the campfires, 24-hour diners, flashlights under comforters, streetlights — the giggles and whispers of sleepovers — the lustful escape of breath — a whiskey saturated head on your shoulder.
Honesty and vulnerability in the dark.
Then we sip our coffees, read our papers, get in our respective vehicles, and pull back into spiral shells until we can do it all again tomorrow night.
Leave a Comment so far
Leave a comment
