2AMs, the sound of the ticking clock, heavier breaths, and cold breezes forcing their way in through the crevices in the glass- they all have their own story to tell. The nights hold an unworldly charm for those who can see through the dark.
As it caresses in its bosom the noisy crowds, the poets, artists, writers and thinkers awaken. How in love am I with these hours that belong solely to them!
Up high in the sky, the moon shines bright and on it are silhouettes of moon children dancing in a winter light to faintly lullabies. They disappear to the morning sun. Are the craters the indentations of their tiny feet as they hurried back home?
On some starless nights, the lone star appears meekly and carefully, like a little brat giving away the playful crimes of its comrades when they're away. Little does it know, the the fallen stardust on night sky carpets at 2 AMs are my playful crimes.
On a distant land, I hear the warring waters. The ebb and flow of the tides. Their fickle mindedness. Ebb or flow? Why this war with a welcoming shore, I think. Ebb, then flow.
Where I am, the nights birth a new story with every deceptive wink of my eye. There's another world in these nights. A hundred new worlds in some. How in love I am with these nights and their stories!