The only time I truly feel alone is when the sun stops shining. I feel nothing. I walk outside, with expectations like that of day, but what appears before me is not the landscape I remember. Day is when you see exactly what’s there, at night, you see exactly nothing. What you’re seeing, isn’t a thing; it’s the absence thereof. Isn’t seeing something as monumental as not seeing anything at all?
Juxtaposed, is black tree contours on 2-D black background. Where’s the contrast, where’s common knowledge? Thick black ink floats. Lifted up from the ground are your feet, suddenly you’re not walking to a vanishing point, because it’s been gone for a while now. What are the jagged ridges looming above my doorstep? They’re mountains, I guess, of course they’re mountains. What’s the sound I hear? Well of course I do not know.
4 p.m. July 3rd, you may look outside and see if you’ll need a windbreaker, 2 a.m. August 6th, you’ve not got a clue. There is something however, about not knowing what’s in front of you. What is it that intrigues us with wonder, why do we have surprise parties? Well of course I do not know.
Sometimes I think about stars.
Think back and I remember dancing with my two best friends on top of the city; it was cold. Loud loud music, and slurpees all around, old cans rattling in the trunk. And laughs, ohhh the laughs. Old men screaming, just as the sun goes down; warm wind settled in Canadian coolies, fake shots and raindrops and memories forever, is what the night reminds me of. Old-times evoked, and new ones provoked, it’s forever a safe place; that of the night.
I walk outside, seeing shapes of nothing and loving it. All I can see is a luminous night ahead of me. The sun’s not here, it’s completely opposite me, but this is the brightest it’s felt for a while now.
