Some people like mornings.
Some people like nights.
Some people are crepuscular, only coming alive to take in the waxing or waning light, disappearing before most even realize they've been around.
You were always a night owl. Mornings always came far too early for you, too bright and cheery whether you'd had a full night's sleep or pulled an all-nighter for whatever reason, be it a study session, too much YouTube, or plain old insomnia. Dawn was far too close to morning to ever be considered something separate, joined at the hip and just as dreadful, though a liminal space like dusk, and not in a good way. The heat of the day was just that— too warm for your hot temper and fiery blood, with too many people around to smother you out.
Night was the cool time, the time of gentle wind and soothing silver light, where no one could see you if you chose so, and there were no responsibilities to get in your way whatever you decided to do. The time when you could walk freely and talk freely— that is, if you ever managed to work up the courage to step outside or speak aloud, once again for fear of others catching you.
Night was calm and quiet and sweet, like a nice cup of warm floral tea, brightened with just a drizzle of honey, with all the time in the world to breathe in the steam and let it warm your hands, though never too much to burn.
There was always something about a sunset, though.
It felt bittersweet, like the chips you'd fold into sweet dough, sending a sharp pain down your throat and into your heart. It was the end of all things, but the beginning of something new, something different, something special that felt like it was all yours.
Dawn was pale, pastel, pretty soft pink and baby blue, and creamy butter yellow. Dusk though, felt a lot more like it belonged to you— blood red disk just touching the horizon, turning the air into solid gold, or fuchsia, or a soft periwinkle in the clouds bringing around a promise of what was to come. It was tangible, especially in the summer, with the heat just draining off but leaving the world syrupy-thick and slow, as though you could swim through the air or, better yet, take a bite.
Streetlights would flicker on, one at a time, along with houselights, adding to the grand performance first brought on by the croaking of frogs and near-deafening buzzing of cicadas, then the slow, tiny twinkle of yellow-green floating through the air, dazedly flying around and landing on whatever it came upon first.
It was intense, passionate, like all the day was and had ever been was just the precursor to this phenomenal play, with everyone and everything calling out for attention, for love, for companionship. This was the magnum opus, the culmination of millennia, and somehow even greater for how short it truly was.
In a matter of minutes, the play is shut down, the stage cleared, making way for the reflection and peace of night. All has gone to sleep, exhausted, preparing for the next day in which it would all start over again.
Sunset was orange and purple, blistering firework heat and frigid swimming pools, sickly sweet chocolate ice cream, staring off into the distance as the sound of the softball game faded away, right when you were meant to pay attention. It was not minding the closeness of family, just for a little while, freedom to laugh and play, but still not worry about being snuffed out, because who would bother when the biggest and brightest was the sky itself?
But it's not for you. Your time is the night.
And it's not for anybody.
It's for everybody, just for a few moments, and you think, for once, you might like to share.
