The shadow of night washed over me
and I realized I had never before looked properly at darkness.
Not with my eyes, in any case.
There is something cleaner in the darkness than in the light;
Something... unstained by the light of day.

The lights of the city, however, broke my conscious dream
as I glanced back towards it and wished it were gone.
My moment of tranquility was gone for the time being.
The concept of it being gone long was foolish.
It could always return, as soon as I missed it.

In all its essence and tranquility, the night was defunct.
Its subtlety was counteracted by disgust,
uttered only by a fainthearted affection.
Still, the night in all it had to offer
was expressed only by those soaking it in.

I, the wild-eyed idealist,
She, the spirited child of fire.
My heart, the fearful budding,
Her heart, the calm in the storm.
And if our very existence is punctuated by four identical
red specs on the low horizon, who is there to defy us?