light.

It’s simple is what it is. Hanging threadbare in naked sincerity– a victim of an everyday struggle between the denial of my consciousness and the infinitude of my primal secrets, as every insomniac who has ever laid in bed pining for death knows– is truth.

It’s late and I’m alone. I’m on a lakeshore and the sand below me is moist. Not wet, not damp, but moist. Every crevice of my footprint has found its mate in the sand- and I feel a ticklish love blossom from their chance acquaintance. The tickle runs all the way up my feet to the ends of my ears and they leave my body in an electric shiver that whispers a warmth into the absent face of the dark air. It is night, a starry night. I see the moon in the distance, hidden behind the clouds. Such a tease, our moon. She is bright and insistent upon my wander. Her pursuit is pointed and relentless. The lake rests in her glory. In the white light of the moon, it is a thick, black slime. I am afraid of the lake. The cool wind continues to caress me, and I still feel my ears blush in defiance. The wind blows through the shadowed pines. Each worried wrinkle on the solemn face of the wind-swept lake betrays a loss of innocence. 

It’s simple is what it is. I see a light in the distance. It is the light that seduces you after you have fallen asleep. It is the light that knows all your secrets. It is the light that bottles your honest secrets in little containers so you may consume them as truths once you sleep. It has been three days since I last slept. I am up so I may be awake when the light comes to seduce me. I want to remember everything the light says, this time. I see the light in the distance.

I drown my feet in the water. It is cold but I perceive it as cool. I cup my hands to quench my thirst. The water is as sweet as nectar and as thin as my resolve. It is so guilelessly graceful that I choke on it and retreat into the shore. The moon peeks through a tear in the curtains. The lake still spells fear in my mind.

The light is upon me now. I feel her breath abound. She whispers in my ear. Her voice is like music. I know the song.

Insomnia is a beautiful place. There are no secrets here.