1am is an old friend
How is it that I don’t write anything for days, and then the urge to write something appears an hour after I should have already been asleep?
Why is it that so many thoughts become clear late at night? Perhaps during the day the concerns of the world drown the thoughts out – questioning them, berating them, invalidating them. Perhaps once the world weary part of us goes to sleep, only the most true part is left standing – the part that wishes, hopes, and wonders.
In the dead of night, in the absence of fear, for fleeting moments anything and everything becomes possible. But then the morning comes, along with doubt and uncertainty. That which was clear is lost in the cacophony of voices from our past, our present, and our presumed future.
Oh to escape in a movie – to see ourselves in others – to be the person we had wished to be – to screw our courage to the sticking place and take the chances before so many sliding doors slam shut.