night sounds

My attempt to be creative: night sounds.

And I find you in the night sounds. The sounds that remind me of what was, what is, what I imagined would be. And they are only sounds. And they are only memories. And they are only summer. And they haunt. And are sorrow, smiles, serenity, sadness, and really nothing at all.

But something.

Although they are only crickets singing their songs and cars speeding someplace important, they are a strange melody. And I wonder if you are in the night sounds.

And I listen.

The night sounds tell me that you are. Or could be, at least. And so I listen. But the more I listen, the harder it is to hear.

I allow myself to drown in the night sounds.

And they morph from purple-pink sunset sounds to the gray sounds of rainy evening, dark apartments, and cigarette smoke. And then I swim deeper into the sounds - the night sounds that help me find you, that are you. And as the night sounds grow stronger and stranger, I wonder where they will take me next. I have accepted that I have no choice about the destination.

And I think I like the mystery of it all. I never was good at making decisions.

Are you in this next stanza of the melody? In this next deep layer of watery music? Half moons and shooting stars and midnight drives along well-worn highways. Knowing something beautiful, clinching fists, gritting teeth, and watching it die. A disease I hate, but cannot beat, cannot understand. I'm drowning in these night sounds.

Are you there?

And my chest will explode, but there have been worse endings. The night sounds are a canvas covered in memories. And as I give myself to the night sounds - as I suffocate in their frightening beauty, I realize you are not in the night sounds.

I have found myself in the night sounds - free to breath, free to remember, free to let go, free to be me.