Late nights. With the lights switched off, or a dim filament lamp letting a pool of soft yellow enchant the room. Curtains drawn, maybe just letting a strip of light stream through, you can sense the universes stars. With my earphones in listening to that melodic chart playlist slowing humming in my ears, a half read novel in the foot of my bed; wearing an oversized jumper or a long t-shirt that smells of a mixture of coffee and ice cream. Wrapped in multiple blankets and sheets and drowned around in pillows, sockless feet, bare toes. Heavy eyelids but they still manage to stay awake, every muscle loose and tired but still awake, my hands above my chest. Fingers wrapped around the cool metal, the luminous light basks my face from the screen, you message appears. Late night conversations, talking about everything. Fears, dreams, poems, stories, experiences, music, anecdotes, idle banter just throwing itself between the keys. In that moment of 1 or 3am, I realise that these are the nights that make up the years of my life that I'll look back on and agree with the population that these were the best years of my life.
YOU ARE READING
Words.
PoetryTo be completely honest, it's just a load of randomly plucked words from the air, infused together with some punctuation and their job is to represent the bunch of emotion I, - a tired, caffeine filled, late night worker- threw together in hopes tha...
