Pulling on his shoes and lacing them up as he keeps a beat under his breath, he grabs the dark blue hoodie from the peeling door, throws it over his shoulders as his arms push through the sleeves, and his hand bursts through the loose knot at the end to grab the doors worn handle.
Floorboards creaking like glass breaking in a hall, sneakers failing in their namesake to mask his movement at 3am as he slips through the sleeping house, stepping into the laundry, through the back door and out into the patio with the crisp morning air, to be greeted by the promise of the solitude he seeks.
Cloudless skies littered with stars spread out as a canvas before him. This is why he likes the dark, why he sleeps all day and writes all night. To escape the distractions that are cast too bright in the light of day, he chases a dream. Its clearer at night, he relishes that he can hear his own thoughts and knows what he wants, he keeps at it. Regardless of what his friends and family think, he is doing something he loves, something that drives and inspires him. Which is more than most can say…
The only sound is the wind through the trees, the occasional mutterings of a hidden animal and his own breath as it fogs against the frigid breeze. Street lights barely casting enough light to see 2 feet ahead of him on the cracked pavement, loose chunks grinding underfoot, joining the ground dust of what were once, larger slabs.
An empty park sits on his right as he trudges along the beaten path, rusty swings creak in the slight breeze, sending light skin crawls over his flesh and a chill through his chest. -Too many Stephen King books man, relax- grinning, as he takes a pack from his pocket, flips the lid, and draws a stick from the dwindling bundle inside. Right hand strikes the flint on his bic, light casts out and flickers faintly on his stubbled cheeks as he breathes the cherry to life and inhales the sweet smoke that clashes so beautifully with the fresh air.
Posted from somewhere amongst the tangled interwebs….