At this hour of the night

I came home tonight and prepared myself a cup of coffee and have a clementine with two cookies. Around me, the quietness of the night_the damped sound of the pipes, of the gas, of the thermostat.

To my mind came dozens of worries, waves of feelings growing and ebbing, in turn, one sweet, one bitter. I sip my coffee and strip my clementine, one small step up, one tiny down. The stillness of the night is magical. The cat jumps and plays, the kitchen is getting plenty of his toys.

In nights like this, precisely after hanging out a bit, M. and I came back to our dorms in campus; first, we used to urinate next to the advertising of the fraternities (a risky action, anyhow, the campus had its own police). Then, in one room, we prepared ourselves coffee and cookies and talked about life. We were at the crest of the wave and, against our momentum, everything else seemed too small, harmless. Now, I miss those moments, being at the trough of the wave; everything looks tremendously proportioned and fearsome.

Innocence is gone; the land of the dreams, driven by a while back. Although I feel content at this hour of the night, I now the smile is faded away from the face of time.

(PLEASE, LEAVE YOUR COMMENT)