It’s the cool wind of the night that hears my whispers;
that carries my words into the faint haze of the stars, hidden beneath an opaque blanket of clouds.
By the faint and yellow light of streetlamps, I sit on cleared stone.
Its frigid touch reminds me that I feel, even without empathy. Even without sympathy.
It’s the brisk wind of the night that cools my hands as the suburban city light surrounds me, denying entrance to the darkness of night.
Though cold, its warmth is like the warm embrace of a lover, the sweaty touch and moist lips that caress my skin.
In the night is where I feel the very touch that reminds me I’m alive.
It reminds me I must watch others through my struggles so they too can know what I feel at this moment.
A tear to know happiness; a wound to know comfort; the brisk wind of the night, to know the soothing warmth of day.
Subtly, I fade, so that I may shine tomorrow.
A Carnival of Fables 