2005-02-15 - 2:43 a.m.
At 1am I stroll out of my house and meet the dark night head on.
I'd forgotten the intoxication that comes with doing things you shouldn't. I can't see very far in front of me, there's only dark, and darker. My 'hood is pretty safe, but I'm sure all 'hoods were once; so a tiny little bell goes off in my head to tell me that I should be wary of the shadows, that I don't know what's lurking.
But I dismiss it easily, because my darling bell, life is just the same.
I can't even see the ground beneath my feet, but through my trusty cliche havaianas, I can feel the grass ... all soft and freshly mown, it lulls me into believing that if I make a misstep, it could break my fall.
I don't fall when the ground changes. I trip, but even blind I can still steady myself. I can't see the swings but I walk towards my memory of them and find them there.
I grab myself a swing, even though they're distinctly not made for 20 year old, curvy me. The chains holding it together creak under my weight as if somehow affronted, but I give them no mind.
I swing. Only a little, at first. I keep my face turned up to the sky, hypnotised by the stars. Before I realise what I'm doing, my legs pump harder and harder, intending to get me that little bit closer to the stars.
I can almost taste them. They taste like ... freedom.
But that kind of thing comes at a cost. Swinging, I have half the world in front of me, and the other half behind. No one's got my back, and I don't have eyes back there ... someone could easily sneak behind me, and ...
... and whatever.
Nobody knows where I am. If something happened, no one, no one would know.
I'm keenly aware of this. And yet ... I fail to care. It just seems to make each sensation sweeter. Mortality is inspiration.
With this realisation, I drag my heels in the dirt to bring my feet back down to earth.
My confused legs make me stagger down the street I've been down so many times before, as if humbled somehow.
I can go home now.