2 a.m.

August 8, 2011
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There is no rest for the wicked, they say.
I must have been bad –
Here it is, 2 a.m. and counting, and I’m wide awake.

But I’m not wicked, and I don’t want to rest.
This is most awake I’ve felt all day.

Everything is quiet, still, and dark.
Everyone is asleep
Leaving all the more energy for me.

This is my favorite time of day or night
Because it is my own
It belongs only to me, and I can do with it what I like.

The hours here last longer than those in the day
At ten, the night stretches before me, empty
No distractions, endless possibilities

I live these hours without scrutiny
They’re all mine, and offer unparalleled privacy
They are empty, and I fill them.

Useless wastes of time during the night feel less useless
As night hours feel less precious, less able to be wasted
Yet somehow more precious, as I wish all 24 could be so dark and still.

During the day, I draw the shades and shut the door
I make my own artificial night

But when the sun goes down I throw the blinds open again
The stars flood in and the real silence – not artificial – floods in.
I don’t need to block out light and sound,
Just relish the absence of both for a few sweet hours.

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