Second World

After the roadside flow dwindles to a trickle of midnight travelers, after all the gates close up leaving only late night gas stations, after the evening wind darkens and cools the night’s tentative beads of sweat, the wordless stories ripen in alleyways, bedrooms, and living rooms a double meaning that underlines all our daylight actions.

Begins the discourse between night and street, between solitude and clarity. Thought travels at a different speed at night, behaves like an animal more familiar, but untamed. Desire condenses to the spaces in between the quiet hum of thoughts repeating through the vast silence.

Yes, there is no real truth here, except
—perhaps—in the glow of the traffic lights, or the murmur of a television as you finally manage sleep.

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