Not “night,” as in, “when it gets dark.” I love dusk. Times that are both too late and too early, too something to be considered practical. Because
some topics just seem silly to discuss during the day, don’t they?
You don’t hear confessions at noon. No one breaks down mid-morning. Little arguments, maybe, at 3 pm, but they rarely heat up as they do at 3 am. Same with sex. Same with love. Same with hate. Same with quiet sobs, epiphanies, confrontations, deep gazes, random spurts of inspiration/ motivation, and suicidal ideation. Most of my thinking. All of my writing. Come one, come all- it’s a blank,black slate to color with the purest of your emotions. With him, with her, with them, with God.
Or by yourself. My favorite. To be vulnerable, all alone- I sometimes feel as if the night exists solely for this purpose. As if my weaknesses are excused once the sun hits a certain degree below the horizon.
Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. Because this in-between is where I feel most comfortable.