Nocturne

I've always been more productive at night. At this time of the journey, I usually feel alive, splendid, restless, thoughtful, moody, sexy... and possibilities seems endless. I remember those late-nights talks, late-nights drinks, late-night dust i use to share with most of the prospects. They are nothing now but shadows and old pals. I call them my ghosts. There is the one that only wave his hand when we cross our paths from now and then. Then there's the one that use to hold in my hand, and lend a shoulder to cry on. And finally, the one I use to make love with at 3 A.M, endlessly dreaming and hoping...

Ironically enough, these ghosts are still in the background of my daily routine. From my everything, to the simplest lust. They all have one thing in common; we became addicted to each other, for the most part. I remember all your smells, all your wrinkles. I remember the graphic details, the agony of our deep breaths. Then we threw ourselves out. Our bodies were just part of the endless consumption cycle. Grab. Take. Adsorb. Throw. We were consumer goods.

The night remains my escape, but i'm more cautious now. When i was little my mom use to tell me that if i hide under my cover the ghosts will go away. I sometimes still hide under my cover, but they seem to always hunt me.