The open window allows the city sounds to come through…
The city is alive although its occupants remain in bed. Few are up at this time, the truck-driver, the lone watchman, the janitor, alone in silence. This solitude affords thought and lonesome.
The cell of building, the human nuclei within, walking desperately praying ticks tock faster, surrounded by darkness. So late one can hear the buzzing of streetlights and the blowing of ventilation systems deep in the distance.
Lights glow from far away-I love you.
The wind is stronger it seems, blowing in patterns and waves. The cool night promotes sleep, although the window is open as weather permits.
The occupant checks the lights twice-rooms remain vacant yet suspect. The wind is lofty and fresh; a sober breath of air reminds of sleep lost and exhaustion- night after night of mundane discovery-discussion or none at all.
Voyagers lost in the same maze night after night with nothing to be found, but the lack of sunlight, unchangeably bound.
I must travel across seas to hear the foreign voice of a beauty. I must stay here to listen to the voice of a local vixen. The soft summer nights are linear contrasts to the winter nights. Day is short, night is long; the frozen memories of buttoning and bundling-up, bring a hope of warmth to my cognition.
V: “You know what happens when you fuck with hard to die man?”
TS: “Bruce Willis?”
TS: “You mean Die Hard. You mean Bruce Willis… Ha, ha. That is fucking hilarious.”