Some nights you'd just rather stare at the ceiling and wait. Wait and watch as the shadows creep along, staving off the Sandman as he comes unrequited throughout the night. It's hard to hear yourself these days, even harder still in a city that never sleeps. Where the dark is never quite dark, nor the silence ever too quiet. No better time than the dead of the night to find a moment of solace, and perhaps hear the faint whispers of a self you've long ago learned to ignore. There's something enchanting about it all, the darkness and the silence. Like empty canvas coaxing secrets from the recesses of a mind too tired to resist. And so I stay awake and paint the time away, for the night is short and the Sandman ever persistent.

Labels: introspect