The Midnight Writer

6 minutes to midnight.

Now 5.

The moments at this time of night feel so deep, so quiet, like a lake that reflects the sky in a vast mirror.

As of late, my life runs like a clock, and the gears of my life fit together so that I go from one place to the next, one class to the next, one assignment to the next... tick, tick, tick... click, click, click... sometimes the pace speeds up to dizzy whirls, and I can barely find a moment to steady myself and catch my breath.

But right now, it's 2 minutes to midnight, and while I watch the clock, there's no ticks, no clicks. Time right now just feels like that vast lake, all the moments of eternity at rest beneath the mirror.

These midnight moments bring out my soft words and poetry. All day long I write hard prose that brims with knives of citations and theses. But now, there's no professor to please, no manuscript to submit, and it's just me seeking solace in words.

These are moments when the world is asleep. I get to find a glimpse of peace, like watching shadows pass over the moon, and listening to rhythm of my breath as I dream.

Midnight.

Good night.