at home with the night

Lonely is the invisible wall that always stands between you and the strangers in the crowd, the flood of their voices that, deafening, becomes less than silence when a thousand million words of someone else's stories mix and become nonsense.

Alone is the quiet calm darkness that is brightened by her day, when, somehow, even though she is halfway around the world, she speaks to you in silent words, and in the stillness of the five a.m. black bedroom you are able to lose yourself entirely in the whiteness of your screen, in the messages she left you, a beacon that shines with borrowed light, light that worms its way into your heart and makes you warm.