Night is like a mother who never lets go. I do not know why this is or why this odd thought has slipped into my mind, but it is there, it has come. I once rode through the night in a broken-down car with a dress so pink and so big that my little cousin was smothered by the skirt. this occurred only after dancing with various strangers. another time I rode past the starry sky in a bus, a kitten tucked into my coat and bags under my eyes. I thought, this is what it must feel like to be an adult. I step further into the abyss and feel my stomach sink lower and lower into its pit. I willingly slithered my way to the place I am today. I crawled with my belly sliding on cold ground, with my chin still raised high, neck craning to the sky, to the night. pitch darkness decorated in dots of life. how my love never seems to die for the night. with danger and shiver, it is an oppressive love, an abusive love. bruised and battered, I gaze up, my feet only occasionally rising a few inches off the solitude of the ground. I wonder when I’ll ever see the break of dawn.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.