Oh, this night air!
There is familiarity here, at this uneasy border between today and tomorrow, like a lost love returned from abroad — in how it transforms sound, enhancing the unfamiliar but muffling everything else, or the way it hangs heavy but high, as if unable to decide whether to descend and become morning.
There is power here — or is it fear? This lonely emptiness breeds one or the other, and there’s no telling them apart. Not here. We are all mad in our solitude.
There is temptation here, too, hours to spend in this moment, if only it had any to give. But daylight is held by the thinnest of threads, and is late, too late now. I know I should not be out, and remember: there are sirens in these waters.
Once, this was my element, but no more. I am worn, weak, too easily steered off-course. But still—
Can you hear? They are calling.