NightBrain

I get really creative at night.
I get really angry at night.
Anger spurs inspiration spurs creativity.
When the world is winding down I feel myself getting up, up, and up.
It's finally quiet and the world shuts up and I can bet the majority of them are asleep.
Well...some.

I think about all the messy wreckage and how it's been growing and festering and stopped up in a bottle like wine resealed.
You can never really keep the full bodied goodness if you pop cork and re-plug.
It loses something.
It loses its voice.
No longer is there a free flowing fountain of fragrance that erupted when you took the top off.
There is no more deliciousness that tastes tantalizing on the tip of your tongue.

People are the same way.
The very same.
You think you have a friend and you end up fucking.
You end up fighting and calling each other liars.
You think you have something that you will savor for a lifetime and then it becomes less fresh.
One day it turns to vinegar just like the wine.
People call you cynical and damaged and you feel...
Broken. And. Lost.
Then something happens one day--if you're lucky or if you have someone who doesn't leave you completely.
Eternal gratefulness ensues.

***

Then you read the book he wrote about your pain.
You are introduced to his wife--or her husband.
It all starts to seem like a movie and life slows down for a minute.
You think about all the nights spent tearfully drowning in pints of anger and clouds of dusty smoke and you see that not much has evolved.
Sure, things have changed but you see something that won't go away no matter who you try to be.
It matters not where you move or who you try to erase the hurt with.
No matter how many friends you fuck and enemies you forgive and wine you watch turn to vinegar it just doesn't stop.

***

You wake up with:
Sweaty uncomfortable silence all around you,
Someone you thought was an answer snoring softly in your bed,
A house fervently cleaned and clothes you wear to the job that made you feel smart but not whole,
Bills and responsibility and your name on shit you share,
Maybe even kids who you look at and wonder...Where the fuck did I go?
Whatever it is that you see when you shriek awake from a dead deep sleep you know,
Nothing will ever be like it was.
Not. One. Thing.