Member-only story
This is how the night speaks,
calling to me with its wild rain
shaking the sleep out of my bones
drumming louder and louder on the rooftop incessantly,
then pouring itself into my room — announcing itself like a monsoon
until I’m soaked right through
and all the questions on the tip of my tongue
— disintegrate into lonely vowels and consonants in the deluge
This is how the night speaks,
crying itself into a river as enchanting as the Nile
temporarily relocating the waters of Egypt to South London for awhile,
it begins carrying me along the river
and my eyes start darting all around,
I don’t want to miss any sights or sounds
of whatever the night wants me so desperately to know now,
I’m supposed to be looking for something
better questions that frame the context
of life’s paradox of joy and misery,
maybe I’m just too lost and too tired to see
maybe tomorrow — it will be clearer when the night calls again to me
