nightlife

Wake up with a cold sweat from the agitated slumber which replaces the long, peaceful hours of sleep of the old days. Creep up to each of three bedsides and pierce the darkness with burning eyes to be certain that every breath that is inhaled is exhaled, mumbling a word of gratitude for that. Climb up to the roof and spread out on the hard, heat-radiating terrace. Stare into the dusty skies, caught between thoughts and notions, hopes and memories, all innately contradictory, all demanding big leaps of faith. Sob, as men do in solitude, and wait for the call to prayer to sound above the lifeless. For then, as the world awakens, sleep overwhelms all consciousness of it. Telle est la vie dans l'obscurité.