I adore the night.

My hours are drenched with tears and sleeplessness, yet still, I adore the night.

My mind, overflowed with thoughts, growing confined.

And loud.

So unbearably loud.

Thoughts of bygone lovers. Those I once cherished in my heart. Of those who glimpsed my most vulnerable self, and how I faltered in holding them close. How I failed to make them stay, plunging myself into another abyss of self-loathing.

But still, I adore the night.

Memories of embarrassing moments before friends, of quarrels with my parents, of summers at my grandparents'.

Thoughts of that one girl for whom I’d sacrifice most of my life. Secret longings to spend eternity with her. Wearing myself down with the sorrow of knowing she can never be mine.

But still, I adore the night.

Dispersed musings on my future. Curiosity, and fear of what it holds, yet excitement, too. Planning it in advance, manifesting my desires.

And still, I adore the night.

I sit on my mattress, legs beneath a blanket in an air-conditioned room at 4 a.m., while the world slumbers. My eyes are puffy, weary from years of weeping.

But still, I adore this night.

I adore this night for it's darkness.

It's safety.

No prying eyes to see my writing, no eavesdropping ears to hear my thoughts.

I adore this night, as it leaves me alone with my pen to pour out my thoughts, and my eyes to release rivers, weighing down my throat.

~Yusra