Β°β’. Types of People as Times of the Day
dawn is drinking alone in his bedroom till day peaks through the curtains. he is sad smiles at the waking world and white linen clothes that are soft to the touch. he takes care to only play music that matches the mood and it fills him with a feeling that helps him ignore the dust that dances in the light and the feeling of cold golden rings dragging his tired hands down.
noon is never home, he explores the world in a shopping cart and a multicolored windbreaker thatβs a size too big. floating is his second nature and sunshine lines his voice when he sings off-key to song no oneβs ever heard. he is wading through a concrete jungle to look for weeds that grow out of cracks in the pavement, and he is candied apple flavored grins in front of a cafΓ© he canβt afford.
twilight is giggles echoing through a sangria stained skyline. she is embroidered golden stars on velvet and hoop earrings that glisten in the slow coming dark. she is an innocence that is not quite there, desperately clinging to the remnants of something lost with a smile thatβs more saccharine than real. she is smiling down a precipice and tossing a match that burns violet into the chasm.
dusk is a goodbye that is kissed on the backs of knuckles, simultaneously promising a return and a permanent farewell. he is dark eyes with flecks of lights flickering in and out of existence, a lighter with the weight of his world sits in his hand and he is quiet because there is nothing left to say to what is no longer there.
evening is a hearth and a bonfire. she is summer dresses and fireworks, and smiling softly to herself when she hears children laughing. quiet contentment courses through her body, she is unassuming but an event, a fourth of july spectacle on the lawn with a glass of cheap wine and hands held. she is listening to the world with her eyes closed and her heart open.
midnight is hiding under her blanket with glow-in-the-dark stars trailing her fingers. the tv is on but muted and the only sounds are of her counting the seconds until witching hour because until then her life is mundane and then just for that moment, she is eternal. a recluse embracing infinity with a static overture playing in the background. her knees are bruised and blossoming colors but for that moment, her world is gray and her smile is bliss.
Vgggggg
