nervously attempting

do you ever miss yourself? 

miss the ‘click’ you hear telling you the last light in the house has gone out, giving you complete liberty for precisely the few hours till the sun comes back, to be so very you:

to paint, write, knit, dance, think, cry, miss, plan, celebrate, love, dream, understand,

away from the disingenuous ‘how are you’s and the empty writing for someone else;

ever miss the sounds of your mind, not awakening, but coming alive with ideas and inspiration?

not the inspiration that tells you what flavour of ice cream to try next, 

the flash that blinds you with its brightness, leaving you with spots in front of your mind’s eye, stumbling to find what it tried to show you; 

miss putting every part of your mind and Yourself into an undertaking nobody has guaranteed will be fruitful; the same undertaking whose practicality or productivity are irrelevant questions, because you have a confidence that goes unspoken, even unthought; an innate knowledge that you will be carried somewhere by Yourself, 

the same Yourself that shies away with the light, under the gazes even of friends and especially of family; the closest part of you to perfection that ironically enough is what you mask, behind the show of composure set to the world.

the self that goes to sleep exhausted and immensely satisfied to the point of absolutely glowing as your ‘real-world self’ must pretend to have slept, and re-collect just enough to be able to rejoin society for the day, forgetting what it will have the opportunity to return to

once the last light clicks back out.