I try not to create when it is late. When the light bulbs are buzzing and the crickets are having small talk. I feel like going on a walk. Somewhere I can clear my thoughts from the memories—nostalgia—thinking of people I knew.
Thinking about if I was not such a fool. Oh, how I wish that I were cool. Oh, how I wish I was not in this mental late night remission. I wish I could stay on mission regardless of a commission.
Where am I now? My thoughts are still here. I think that is why I fear. I feel like I have walked so very far tonight. Far out. My mind is stuck in the mud with restless thoughts that land loudly in the back of my head with thunderous thuds. I want to stretch past these tireless thinking bees and their pink noise buzzing hum, but for the ignorant the hum is simply fun.
Who am I now? The air is cold and crisp, making me miss the warmth of humidity and with it a longing for true humility. I look for insight tonight, but not too much for that might strike a chord inside. The emotional vibrations make every step and blink the spoken words for a creative drink. I look at it when it becomes red and wish I had not read that part of Proverbs because it makes my pride hurt.
What am I now? There are slugs on the concrete ground. They leave a trail of slime. I think they have a good approach to time: just leave what has already been done behind. They have no shame; slugs play their own game. I think they do not care much for recognition and fame. The transparent liquid sleeping bag has been zipped up all over the grass. What an awful life to have: grass. I have been staring at the ground for just a moment, but a moment is all I need.
I walk back to the buzzing light bulbs previously in sight. The crickets have run out of topics to discuss. I think about how my night could have been much different. I think that there are no coincidences and this night is truly significant.