The night asks questions

Arkhip Ivanovich Kuindzhi, Moonlit night on the Dnieper

In the middle of the night, I am awake.

The night asks me questions and waits, watches me, motionless, silent, as I trip over my answers in my head. What am I doing with the days? How am I spending time? What am I doing occupying space? Why am I filling lungs with air?

The night offers nothing to fill up the awkward shameful silence. No chores to escape into, no phone calls, no eyes awaiting my presence, no activities. The night sits on the couch as I sit with her, my heart thudding, wondering how to answer.

Darkness swallows me up whole and the crescent moon buries a sharp corner into my chest. I have no response. I have nothing but silence as the night watches me with the eyes of a school headmistress, a work supervisor, a senior colleague, an adolescent child. Well? Who are you and what have you done? Not much. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all.

2 thoughts on “The night asks questions”

  1. My reply to the questioning night

    O’ Night.

    I don’t know much about her.
    Except for what I read on Twitter.

    What made me “follow” her?
    Maybe coz she’s a cool sister.

    From what I can digitally gather,
    She’s a good mom and even better daughter.

    She shows up and she’s present,
    to me, that’s a life well spent.

    O’ night don’t swallow her whole,
    O’ moon, don’t pierce her soul…

  2. Zeba. Your beautiful words pierced my soul with love. This is so, so, sweet and kind. I had to read this to my daughter because i was so moved.

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