"i am tortured by the middle of night."

and it's true.

the trouble is, the middle of night has been the best lover and friend i have ever had. no matter what happens, i can count on the middle of the night to be there.

the quiet, the solitude, the thoughts, the worry, the pleasure, the stolen voices, the ideas, the wishing, the confusion, everything.

so much of the middle of the night is all over my skin, it's part of the thread that keeps me together.

like the tips of my fingers, or everything that i mean to put into letters but am too afraid to put out into the air.

i sometimes find myself in the middle of the night, imagining what it might be like to say everything that i mean to say, everything that i want to tell, be the person that i am inside, but on the outside.

i sometimes can't figure out what's more real to me, who i am in the middle of the night, here in my room, in my bed, on my steps, staring up at the sky

or who i am when i walk out my door the next day, when i actually talk to people face to face, when i am in the middle of everything, when there's an actual world around me.

i want somehow to be how i am in the middle of the night in the light of day. to feel the things i feel when i am laying in my bed at night, when i am awake the next day.