I took a minute to lie between the covers and hear the silence of a Wednesday night. Thirty minutes later, I’m still stretched on my back and waiting for a comet to dazzle the bleakness of nights.
Work is work; I enjoy it enough to wake up at 8 promptly, and I loathe it in equal amounts when I take home the shoulder knots, pounding headache and checklists.
These days I take to the books to find solace since I spend 3/4 of my work hours in conversation. Therapy in words is unlike a familiar tune you hum along to. I’ve made good homes of the reading nook and crannies, as well as punctuating the seemingly endlessness with a night cap. To swirl in the comfort of my favourite words and rhyme is to fall asleep to the stars.
And we forget the moon somehow. Without its own light, the moon pales to a backdrop of light speckles and sparkles. It leans solitarily on the knowledge of slumber when the world moves madly on. Yet it doesn’t quit on being a beacon in the murky waters. It doesn’t leave to love another. It turns to the cold so you’ll have more.
And if we can sleep soundly in the crescents of the valley tonight, maybe, just maybe, the moon doesn’t have to take flight.
I’m a deadbeat sweetheart beat. I can’t shine when in your parameters. I want to just be. So let’s lead parallel paths and let me be someone else’s moon tonight.