The warm colors are drained

Down beneath the horizon,

Leaving little white specks

Scattered across a black sky.

Amongst them, a glowing orb

Taking the place of the previous one.

The moon’s alluring light draws secrets from their hiding.

No longer under the sun’s watchful eye,

The truth will brazenly reveal itself,

The moonlight peeling back the illusion.

The sunlight no longer feeding the mirage,

It will be shed like snakeskin.

This is why the best conversations take place at night,

When the earth no longer buzzes with solar energy

And instead holds its breath respectfully,

Leaving room for a discussion,

A deep question,

A heart-to-heart,

A reflection.

A confession.

I close my eyes, and there I am again.

In the backseat of the car again,

Talking too quickly again,

A nervous wreck again,

Imaginary melodrama again,

Spilling my guts again,

At 1 a.m.