Long nights used to be my allies, my friends. Filled with wee epiphanies and heightened senses. Where they led me I would go and they always took me some place good and lucid. In fleeting moments I sometimes felt what I imagine was my soul and I breathed in whispers just in case it had a voice. By the time day light dripped in, I would sink down slowly into smoky pink clouds of sleep.
Those nights are past. In their place have arrived murky interlopers that bring with them despairing panic. I swat feverishly at my notebook and the air. Clear the way, clear the way! Don't keep me from myself, not a minute longer, please. But these nights are unyielding. When sleep comes it is wretched and feels like failure. And the days, I reject.
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