I’ve talked about shadows and how they watch me sleep once the moon hovers above. How my eyes have seen nights pass by like seconds when they can’t close shut to see a different ominous dark, but leads into a surreal world. It’s as if it all makes me envision what it wants me to see rather than opening up gallons of paint and throwing it all on canvases in order to paint a whole different picture. I can’t disagree, or let alone not believe what they see when all eyes are shut from the world and no one else is watching. 

But once bright sun rays shine through my blinds, all the shadows disappear and they secrets are never told about how night abuses midnight marauders that wonder around dark streets. An essence lifted once daylight slows down and dark over powers the landscape; an inhale like a fresh breath air for them as they feed off cold night breezes. 

I could let myself stay up but never see what their eyes see—same atmosphere but different visions. Watching as their silhouettes move from house to house; a form of smoke passing in the air and through brick walls. Even if my body was restless and stayed up after hours, I could never amount to what they night as.