Do you bolt the door when night comes?
Do you keep the night outside and put a locked door between yourself and the darkened sky?
I need the night.
I have walked for hours in the night, I have walked alone, I have walked into crowds and past police standing around the crowds on horses, I have walked into places where I couldn’t hear myself talk or see anything for the light, I have walked along roads where I have heard nothing but cars, I have walked along roads where I have heard nothing. In the pitch black I have seen lights that left me unable to see and I have seen amber lights that glow and hum and I have seen nothing at all and had to feel around in the darkness for a way to go. I have walked sober and I have walked drunk and I have walked myself sober. I have danced and I have run and I have glided along, letting the night wind and meander in front of me. I have been hungry for loneliness, I have been so alone that I felt that my stomach was full, I have gritted my teeth through the loneliness. I have sat at night and waited, I have stood up, I have paced around. I have lain down alone, lain down with others, lain down in pleasure, in guilt, wanting to sleep and unable to, not wanting to sleep, unable to stop myself sleeping.
Do you bolt the door when night comes? Sometimes I do, now and then, I find myself doing it. When does night become something you shudder about and want nothing to do with? When does it become a threat? And when do we bolt the door and keep it outside.
And now and then I find myself bolting the door, but I hear it scratching there, scratching, wanting to be let in and waiting for me to be let out. I hear it scratching and I miss it. I miss it and I want it. And I hope I never see the day when night is just a place to sleep.