what i really want to say is this

i miss the night. the softness, the shadowed edges, the stillness. walking out under the stars and realizing you are a human being. everything weighs differently at night - i'm pretty sure gravity changes. some things float a few inches above the surface of things while others weigh you down. if virginia woolf had tried to kill herself at night, the stones she put in her coat pocket would probably have pulled her right out of the river, and taken her up up up up and away like a balloon, until she kissed the face of the moon.

time is different, too. slower. maybe heavier, maybe lighter. dreamier. perhaps that is it. maybe the world of dreams seeps out at night, gliding along the surface of things, pooling in unexpected places, brushing up against corners like a cat, painting everything strange colors, making things more permeable. everything is more permeable at night. past, present, and future bleed into each, causing everything to make a different kind of sense, a new kind of sense. love makes sense at night. and families, too. all of that heart bone blood marrow stone stuff makes sense at night.

ach. i want to be painted the color of dreams. i want all the rocks in my apartment to float against the ceiling, to try to break free. i want to feel the weight of someone's dreams, of their bones, of their heart.

i want to stay up until i get all the words right.