Looking up Feels like Falling

Dusk is upside down. The light comes from below, and the dark rides on it like a sea of algae in the diver’s view, the nightshade drifting on the dense surface above. An orange blue glow swims along the skyline roofs, under a blanket of black silence, clearly waiting for its moment to weep privately in the dark. Ink blot clouds punctuate the sky like blotches of age on skin. Nomadic wisps migrate like herds, moving off in advance of oblivion. The air is soaking up the last of the day, full now like a sponge perched over the city, gently pulling like the last precious tug of a kiss, bursting slow into a shambles of color.

I want to go out. I don’t know why the color and texture of night draw me like crowds at a cafe. I feel, for a moment, like I am allowed to be me. I am soft, wide-eyed, open. Yet I feel passionate and intense, and still yet assertive, witted, dominant and agile. I’m hungry. I want to go out. I wonder if anyone else is looking up, disheveled in the day’s dying breath.

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