Only Night It's summer and nights are quiet. No one's around much anymore, a thing to cherish at one time now the silence brands my skin with insolence and I've taken to referring to emotions as bastards. Once in a fit of restlessness, I drove out past the city limits on a country road and slammed on the accelerator until the car almost redlined, my only regret that it wasn't a convertible and no one could hear me scream. I realize that while I love my solitude, I still want fireflies to flit in that space between loneliness and aloneness, just in case I need to catch one in a jar for a brief, pretty distraction from the mocking of a saturnine moon. Where once I would have looked to esoteric things, I changed when the world changed, and words that were once easily spotted in the luster of an evening star, now trail away like midnight vapor to remind me that it's really only night.
