The Night is a Mysterious Box of Treasures

Wake up after the sun is halfway done with it’s daily routine. Open your eyes and watch the world spin. Lie there in your whites and wait. And let the fog settle. Let the images emerge. Faint at first. Like dim lights guiding you through a maze of what was and might have been. Close your eyes again and let your head rest. You can’t stop time and you can’t stop the thumping, you can’t deny the past and though it hurts you laugh out loud at the story you lived one ridiculous night.

The streets teeming with strangers and the hands of a hundred friends. The spell was cast and everyone smiling or was it just me. As the lights whirled and flashed, illuminating in the dark a fluttering nymph just out of reach. I sighed and winked and she laughed at me. Maybe I was already drunk. Of course I was, on 151 and the thought of love. Someday when the lights go down we’ll meet again to find out what the world is made of and how many sips it takes to get to the bottom of everything.

Sometimes your friend is everyone. When the streetlights nod happily on the blurry tunnelvision night. And you forget where your foot steps and the sound breath makes. And you walk in arching circles because you aren’t going anywhere. You end up where you started to begin again with a grin on your face and a key in your hand.