Waking in the dead of night was a surprise. I had barely seen the dark, always travelling when it was light, when light murdered the land with heat and burning. I wandered through the streets, looking, as always for the why of things. What had woken me from sleep this time, of all times? What reason did my mind have for finally showing me the dark?
Walking was painful, my legs not fully recovered from lying
still for so many hours. I kept hitting my legs against tables and chairs as
well, smacking bone on metal and jerking away, sucking the bottom of my lip. Whatever
else I had to say, I was appalled by the lack of nuance in my wording but all
that fell away under the pain of aching limbs.
Trees were old now, lost under the dark, I was proud of that
fact, proud that I could finally see things when they were hidden in
lightlessness. Wonderous, wonderous worldly and wonderous in its pure existential
reality. God loves the innocent and the dead. Or do they, I am agnostic about
such things, they do not tell me like they know to tell me.
Fuck me, what the hell is all this shite? I like it a lot,
to an extent anyway.
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