do you ever just wonder why people describe the
2 am nights as pitch black, black where only the
stars shine through and clouds don't exist? black
where the only thing your eyes can make out is
the gleaming city lights and all your ears can hear
is car honks and the pitter! patter! of rain as the
sounds crash through the night?
why would they describe the 2 am time as such
a dark place? maybe because they think that it's
only once the hand of the clock reaches that
number, that time really tumbles into a blind
stumble of hands feeling for something, anything?
well, i think they're wrong. for me, night has always
been a greying yellow where stars don't exist and clouds
drift through the sky like soaring birds without flesh or
feathers. 2 am has always been thunderstorms and
silhouettes of trees as parties echo through the sky.
night has always been me nestled up in blue sheets
and a fuzzy pink blanket that's gone through years
but still manages to retain the memories stitched into it.
— 2am is being a little broken, but a little okay
YOU ARE READING
SUN SETTING
Poetryit was at that time of ruin, that the stars rose from their graves. skytaints | all rights reserved ©
