Updated: Mar 19, 2021
I don't know why it's called 'the dead of night'.
There is nothing 'dead' about the night.
I breathe better when the lights dim and the shades begin to slip and slides between reds and purples.
The dark tinges touching, flirting with each other. Slowly enveloping. Slowly and softly covering all it sees and does not see.
I think better and seem to reconnect with myself without knowing how.
I become a more honest 'me'. The daily face with its struggles, challenges, smiles and sighs melts away. My armour slides to the ground. Noise and confusion lays dormant.
I am left vulnerable in my own spirit. Yet free. I feel, the darker the night gets the closer I get 'to me'.
I begin a journey on a path only shown during these precious moments. As if hidden stepping stones covered in mysterious light suddenly appear, lighting the way.
There is nothing 'dead' about the night. That's when I feel the most alive. That's when I truly live.
Photo by Hadinet Tekie