How come something so dark, terryfing, something that we fear since the very dawn of our history, makes me feel home, almost as if it always welcomes me and speaks to me?
Well, you see, the night really talks, you only have to listen close, and you'll hear its voice.
To me the night is many things: a calm breeze flowing through my hometown, just fast enough to hear the long and tired branches whisper their pain away, while the occasional, but polite, almost drone-like hum of a truck is heard further away; it is bright red LED lights in my rearview mirror, almost lighting the bushes on fire behind me as I stare at the somewhat cloudy sky; it is seeing the everflowing Danube making it's way to Budapest. The night, to me, is silent, but that silence also often came from my mind - hearing the engine roar, blasting my favorite tracks on an empty road, going somewhere, anywhere, and everywhere, true silence of my mind. I can still feel the cold summer breeze dance through my hair at speeds I would not admit to anyone, but the road was empty and the night was young. Or take that December, when I was the first to leave marks on the fresh snow, all thanks to the night. Oh how much time I spent in silence on a hill or in a parking lot, just taking it all in... Maybe with the wrong people, yes, but the night still remained.
The stars, the Moon, and Venus shining through the night, they always ease my mind. I often think about what is out there, beyond these friends; what they would say, if they could speak. I don't think I'll get to know its secrets in this life, but they really are a sight to behold.
The night to me is all the above, and so much more.
The night to me is home.
