Night Talk.

As the darkness pulls over me like a quiet revealing sheet of a different shade of light, I lay in my bed, watching the car lights dancing on the wall, seeing everything in a dim kind of black, and suddenly, the things that meant so much just a couple of hours ago fade into nothingness.

At night, there’s a freedom outstretched to the boundaries of the self and its imagination. There’s always this self-talk a little bit empowering, but quickly enough wavers to bring about some worry of what life could bring, it also reviews the different events of the day, rummaging for mistakes and sources of guilt, calling for more and more reformation, because good is never enough.

Sometimes at night, I fear God. Although He is always in my heart as a source of comfort but, at times, I feel so small in this world and so unready to die for some reason. I’ve had so many chances to help others, did I fulfil them all? Did anyone ever feel dissatisfied by the value I had presented? Did I ever hurt anyone?

Perhaps I did, and those little fears gnaw at my soul, allowing it to retreat and recoil, retaining some of the darkness it might have neglected during the day, during the vivid hours of sunlight— but, the shadows do return, they’re always there as long as there are obstacles on the way to a purer soul.

However, the night is not always like that. I’ve discovered a disparate dimension of it and got nearly acquainted to its kindness. There were those last November days that I decided I would want to adorn my mind with nothing but inspiration and beauty, listening to melodies so abstract, awakening the bird life of spring in those grim winter days to come. With each night, my love for the darkness and those loud moments of silence grew more prominent, and I longed for them each afternoon, waiting patiently for the day to end so that I could just lie back and dream on.

The night is now a time for self-expression; a time solely made for everything about my own life— not necessarily bad and imperfect but also beautifully meaningful. All of those questions I ask myself and God renounce themselves during the night, where I try to find the answers, discover them deep within the rubble of my intellect.

Though I spend hours and hours writing, listening, thinking and feeling, I always wake up early enough to see the sunrise and hear the dawn break. Those lessened hours of sleep are even rather dreamless, quite contrary to what I used to experience a couple of months ago. It’s because I spend those moments dreaming things so genuine and heart-warming, that my subconscious no longer needs to comfort itself with its random trajectories of wistful thoughts. There is already what is fairly permanent and stable, as long as it is interlaced with values verily righteous and worth fighting for, ideals to grant a blessed conscious and a sprouting soul.

The night is the art of becoming genuinely human. It’s just you, minutes away from sleep— minutes away from a realm so unknown and mysterious yet, we decide to live those moments and not give up on waking up all together. We continue to think and dream and wake, till the night falls and we do it all again.

I hope we all choose to do it in a more beautiful way, to find how pleasurable it is to be so close to magic and the realistic aspects of illusions and emotions so strong that you cannot discern whether they are worldly or not. I do wish we had more access to the mystic areas in our souls and minds, pondering deep into the whereabouts of the many twists of fate that bring so much meaning and satisfaction. We are all ready to face them in our nature, we just need to reconnect and ground ourselves in the roots, nearby the mountains and the magma keeping us standing on firm grounds.

The night is here for us, just to let us fantasise our existence. Just to let us remind ourselves that we really do exist, and how wonderful is that? How wonderful it is to be given the chance to dream and just be.

My nights will never be the same after this.