Monday, February 14, 2011

And the Darkness Be Called Night

Walking down the road, hand in hand at midnight, when stepping atop the tree's shadow in the asphalt she wonders when she will fall into a black hole and find herself in a different world. The asphalt is black, but the street lights illuminate the ground, so it is black, but then again it's light. But when she walks under the lumpy shadows of the trees, the black is encompassing. She steps onto the black, unknowingly.

It's crazy how step by step she trusts that the ground will hold her up. In the dark, where monsters could be lurking and black holes can hide in the black night, she steps and steps again. Closing her eyes, she has faith that the night will be like the other nights where the black did not take hold of her.

And he stops her suddenly and she, lost in thought, stares at him confused. "I thought it was pretty." He says, speaking of the moon.

"Oh yes, it is," she says, thinking how the moon looks just like the street lights, white and 2/3's of a circle. The lights give her a headache, and so does the smell of his cigarette.

She likes the black hole under the lumpy tree, because night time was meant to be dark, with the moon and stars and no competition of lamp posts, and the constant orange glow on the horizon. In the city, lights illuminate the night, and hide the stars. In the day, smog chokes her breath and clouds the sun and smears the clouds. She wishes that the light could be called day and the dark be called night.

She finds the city exciting, but the country girl inside still longs for solitude and silence, for dark nights and crowds of stars.

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