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the hour of jubilee.
we love late nights. we have the world to ourselves and there’s nothing here but us. people sleeping while we roam the streets in search of perfection, the spark missing in daytime. bodies packed close together, sweat gives way to perfume and cologne. if we didn’t drink the vodka that stings some of us more than others, we’d choke. there’s only one rule here: anything goes. distracting ourselves from how short a number 8 is. 8 hours till daytime, 8 hours till washing our hair and getting back to it. right, then. anything goes tonight. if you jump just to fly, a million arms will catch you. lips are waiting to kiss you. arms are waiting to hold you. tonight we forget who are, believe the lies painted on our faces. we’re here, it’s fine. if secrets get told tonight no one hears them. we forget we’re awkward and prefer the company of a pen and paper to other humans. we forget we work drive thrus and retail while penning novels about wars tearing people apart. we put on masks or take them off tonight. whatever it takes. anything goes. whatever works. anything goes. we own the night but we are slaves again come morning.
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