Now, I love the nights when I am alone. From my bed, I hear the rumble of cars, perhaps several words or laughter floating in the air from passerbys. But most of all, I hear the night breathing, sighing a breath. Calming down the world to rest for the night so that its gentle sibling, the dawn, will wake us up to fresh breath.
The anxieties of the days drift away. They hesitate in the air, lost and unsure where to place their sticky fingers to raise blood pressure and grit teeth. I breathe in deeply and they flutter away like fallen leaves, crackling along the walls, then coming to rest on the carpet.
I read now. Just like how I did more than twenty years ago before bed. I don’t clutch the hardcover books from the library, sometimes 15 borrowed at one time. Instead, I hold my devices, the electronic things that host dynamic text that I must scroll with a flick of the finger. There, the big flat metal rectangle holds treasures. Then the smaller one, the blue one hosts the words and a speakerphone. And then there is the black object, the size in between the flat metal rectangle and the blue one. I left up a cover, revealing what seems to be printed word and I move my finger across the text. It changes!
And I drop into magical worlds. Slowly, my eyes start drifting close and I feel my body fall into my mattress, longing for the muscles to relax and let the night make its call. And so then, I let it go. The stillness falls and silence descends.