A Night.

Your heart stops. In the middle of your chest there’s this feeling that is like a mild explosion. Excitement, maybe. Anticipation. It is quiet. Only the mechanical turns of the fan above you can be heard, occasionally. Like its whispering to you, encouraging you to do it.

You click once. Open it several times. Wait for it to load. Its a picture. Its several faces. You focus.

You deliberate.

But the words stop you. They’re not your own warning, but they were given to you for your own good. You know, the ones that said ‘Proceed at your own risk’ and always have a ‘I told you so’ in tiny, almost invisible font.

You debate.

Things always can go two ways. And even when a ship is sinking, you can still go done playing the strings of your melody. But do you want to swim or sink? Is it worth drowning? Would you drown at all. So many metaphors. And yet, if it was only that simple to be solved in metaphors. But it is real. Its in the front of you. This is life.

You close your eyes again. You try to feel everything you can in a minute, no, no, in a moment and try to argue whether they matter. Does this feeling matter. Will I change tomorrow? Will I change the next moment and most importantly, will I be able to out myself to sleep after all of this. You close you eyes. Then open. Look. Close. Its the only way you fee close enough to share anything in this silence.

It is a good night. You will be able to survive, you conclude. You have been for so many nights. You also know, that tucked away in a small corner is this feeling that if only you can tap on the screen and her their voice, it would… Well, make the surviving better. One note. One syllable.

But the odds are stacked up like a forsaken game of Jenga and you’d rather ignore its existence than play to pull out one block and see it all fall. You don’t want to see it fall. You have already, anyway. So you let the silence be, let the words in your head accumulate and maybe, just maybe put them down somewhere, in some manner where no one could harm them.

Here, maybe.

Then you close this tab. Take a breath in. Let the excitement die down into your stomach. Promise yourself there will be another night. And smile, because you know you’re lying. Then you open the picture. Let it load. And not stare.

You continue reading your book as the night slips by. As the comfort the silence brings ends in a cacophony of sharp vibrations. You look down expectantly. But you know its not them. You know. And yet.

Your screen is still on as you finish the 42th chapter. You were supposed to sleep a hundred pages ago. But. You sigh as your screen refreshes the ‘Last seen.’

Some kind of date this is. Some kind of night


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