ONLY IF FOR A NIGHT

I know I should stand and fight. I know its expected of me to concentrate and be practical. Witty and gracious when needed. Strong and delicate at the same time.


But when the night comes...I don't want to stand, I don't want to have to fight. I want to lie down next to you and let my guard down. Let the sky be so black against my white night-dress. Let go off the day and of all that is about and what it was supposed to be. I want to be naked, egoless and comfortable. Only if for a night, everything could be gameless and easy and for you to think me beautiful when most vulnerable. For you to want to lie next to me and just be. Like that. 


Just for a night which has nothing to do with the way I walk or talk, or ocean, or the mug I left on the coffee table to be knocked down by the wind because I refuse to close the door. Or the way I see you. Instead, it has everything to do with re-birth, an amazing tomorrow and a chance, once more, to be better. 


At night I analyse, re-live the day that just expired by the sun hiding underneath the horizon, I think about all the things I have to do by the raising of the same sun. Watching my life unfold in front of my eyes, demanding to know if I am happy with it, while I just want to fold, press my knees against my chest. Not go into the depth of my childhood and when it all began and why. Dark in my room is shoulda, coulda, woulda have done/do color. How I should stop smoking, of all the countries I could travel to,all the loves I should have made, something about running to, about rise and fall, how are stars and the bones I am made of the same color, all the dances upon the tables, all the things I wanted to say but it was too late, all the things I have had said when should have forced a patient smile and nod my head. 


At night I want to give myself to gravity's way and feel weightless, feel the tidal pull. Spoon me, listen to the night-its one of the sounds I like best. It's almost similar to the sound of a seashell's twist against my ear, when really is the whooshing of my blood. Wait for the dream to come, sooner if not before. Only if for the night could be all clear as day. 


Only if for a night I could be without my cloths and colors I choose for that day, without my attitude, without the spectrum, feathers and all that is chocking me when awake. Without answering, explaining and excusing, without moving out of the way or politely asking for more space. My bed, my space, my place. 


Each morning the only solution is to stand up and fight. Choose happiness if I had my way, if I was my own God.


But only if for a night I could just be. Just like that.