NIGHTLIGHT

KATE OS TROW SKI

Moonlight streams in through the windows. Lying on my bed, a beauty all dressed in black, save for her emer ald green eyes. Her purr ing almost drowns out popping up on my phone A faint glow emanating from my laptop, the tippity tap tap tap

The clock reads 3 a.m. In a few hour s, I’ll go to school.

My sanctuar y My room. An empty bottle of Coke , rolling around listlessly on the car pet. A half-eaten ice cream sandwich, And I enjoy the silent, yet not-so-silent, bit of har mony.

Ever ything as it should be . Peace within the dar kness. I know that once I fall asleep, I’ll then have to wake up And this moment of tr anquility, all my inspir ation, thoughts, motivation will be gone

Now, now I am still invigor ated, ener gized by the light of the moon, by the dar kness, by the not-so-silent silence , by the hymns of the dusk by these soft r ituals, the obsidian sky, and my black beauty

I feel it cour sing in my veins, like a lifeline , this blood of the night. It calls me And each night I answer, reaping the rewards. In my room.

Feather y hair and untied shoes, she sits at the edge of the water Her head is heavy with thoughts under the thin sheet of frost, and lie there . The lake is bitter ly silent, but she can almost make out the steady thr um of wings against her hear t. steady pulses. Its antenna, willowy feather s, sensing for places of light

She can’t remember when, but at some point in time , a moth had perched itself in the space between her lungs, encapsulated by her r ib cage . The plump creature was easy to tune out, especially when the loud birds in her head were screeching.

It was always opening the cur tains, tur ning on the lamps, even when she made it clear she would r ather splay her self out on the surface of despair So no, the moth was not wanted. And that didn’t stop it from taking care of her

A breeze drew her from her thoughts, making tr ails over the water. The way the light fell upon the r ipples in str ipes

She sighed, then tied her shoes and got up. She supposed she would listen to the feather y creature in her chest, not-so-inconspicuously nudging her to go home . She would dr aw a war m bath, maybe brew some tea, and read her book in bed, with the dying sun of twilight streaming through the window.