Suspended in Midnight

There is no moon tonight.

I like the night. It is dark, quiet, sombre, calm.

There is no sunlight, no bright dazzling light to expose and reveal and shock. There is only the darkness, warm, cold, comforting, familiar ground. What I do not see does not hurt me. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

There are many times I spend in the darkness. In the quiet of my room, listening to myself breathing, hearing someone take a sharp breath in, knowing that there is no one else in the room. I mutter "Hail Mary"s and "Our Father"s repeatedly, holding it before me like a holy charm in the hope that whatever thing is breathing alongside me disappears. After 60 ticks of the clock, I do not hear breathing anymore. Only then, do I notice that I have stopped breathing as well. I breathe out. I like the darkness.

It is where my imagination comes alive before me. I do not have to see colour to experience colour in my mind. I don't care for nature's given colours. I want my skies to be black and the plants white and people grays, all different shades of grays. Walking in their patent thick heavy-set coats with a multitude of snakes wrapped around their necks. In the night, in the thick inky black night, I can dream. 

I remember the night. 

I sat there at 1a.m. in the morning with a Dinner for Two from McDonald's. I sat in a darkened doorway of the Society of the Deaf. And I cried. I wailed to an unseen moon. I cried and I cried. I thought my heart had broken. In the silence of the night and besides the bread trucks that zoomed on the nearby highway, I howled. A coward, she had said. A lying goddamn bastard. In the darkness, it echoed in mind.

You said you would never leave me. You lied! 

You bastard! You fucking bastard!

You don't even have the guts to stand up to her! Fuck you!

That night, I cried. And I went home and curled up and hoped that in the morning, I would find myself in Heaven or in Hell. I did not want to live.

The day came sooner than I wanted it to. And I was bathed in sunlight that I could not care less for. 

******

I remember the night. A cold cold wintry night. Where the frost formed thick on the grass and we dared not venture outside for the cold.

The two of us, friends, lovers, whatever we wanted to be, intertwined on a single bed, afraid of making a noise as the others slept nearby. We kissed, we touched, we gasped and yet, as I slid my arms around her to pull her closer, she only buried her head in my neck and breathed against me. 

I think I love you.

That somehow made us both pause. 

I'm not a baby.

But I was lost in the wonder of her lips, her hands, her nose, her neck. I turned on the light and I smiled. She smiled back too.

You're beautiful, you know that? You look so so so gorgeous.

She just flicked the switch and we were lost in the wonder of the night. The darkness. Again.

Her lips, soft, yielding, uncertain but yet, it was there. Sweet. And I ran my hands through her curls. 

I love my curls, she used to say. They make me look wild.

Her thick, luscious curls. Black as night. Black as the night I sank myself into. 

My little wild one, I called her. And she'll smile and wrap my arm around her waist and snuggle close.

So many nights. With her. 

Studying late at night for midterms. She'll fall asleep in front of the computer that we both shared and I would watch her. Breathing in. Breathing out. And smooth out her brow if she was frowning. Tuck her into bed.

She was always cold. So I'd hug her. And she felt warm. 

I never wanted those nights to end. 

But the sun always rose. Without fail.

What I would give for the sun to die.

******

So many nights. Alone.

Walking home mid morning, knowing that the sun was just about to rise, my jacket thrown carelessly across my shoulders. I would unlock the door and let myself in. Draw my curtains and in the darkness, I would sleep until the middle of the day. The night was where I would live. In the daylight, I seemed to die. 

The night was where I would write. And write and write and write. Pages and pages of meaningless words sprawled and tumbling across pages. Meaningless, useless, nothing. Just words. Alone in my room, I would concoct stories of princes and princesses and dragons and white horses that would ride across magic fields and swords that would save the world.

I only wished that someone had told me that life was no fairy tale. A happily ever after ending is for suckers and idiots.

******

There is a full moon tonight.

One of my favourite songs ever since I first heard it was "Dancing in the Moonlight." For me, it conjured up images of people dancing underneath a full moon on top of a mountain. In the midst of summer, perhaps. A nice bonfire in the middle of the dancing crowd. A warm breeze. 

I had dreamed of opening a dance studio where there would be a glass roof and it would only be open at night. And I would hold balls where people would waltz and dance all under the pale moonlight. I would have masquerade balls and the theme would be "black and white" and the music will play and everyone will dance the night away.  

Sometimes, I think that I would have been better suited to the night rather than the day. I am more comfortable with flashing strobe lights, glimmering and gyrating bodies, loud thumping bodies in the middle of the night rather than being in bright daylight, working day after day after day. But no, it is not right. It is wrong. It does not pay the bills. It does not guarantee me a future. 

Who gives a fuck about the future.

The night is endless. Filled with bar staff and whores and musicians and late night chefs and dancers who know the meaning of a night rather than equate it to sleep. Each second of a night passes like infinity. 

And only when the dawn sparkles and the sun raises its head does the denizens of the night scamper away to bed. Until the night comes again.

I like the night.

******

I like the night.

How the skyline sparkles. 

How the wind rushes towards me, caressing my hair, like my wild one. How skyscrapers twirl and spin and dance as I blur my eyes because of my tears. 

How I can dance and not give a damn about what happens. Because the night does not care. The night does not ask for anything but me and whatever I can bring. It does not give a damn. It only wants me. Whatever I want to be.

Hello, my little wild one.

And she smiles. I pull her close to me and breathe in the fragrance of her curls, as black as night.

******

"We need an ambulance, here! Someone just jumped!"

"Oh my god, I don't think he's breathing!"

"Hell, he's lost a lot of blood!"

"Hurry, call 111!"