Into the night.

I decided to sit in front of the fireplace on the small, oval, mauve colored rug that I laid in front of it years ago. I leaned forward to slowly burn the wood in the fireplace until I heard the sound of fire crackling. The orange, yellow, and red flames moved rhythmically as I sat back down to allow myself to remove the focus away from the sensations that I have just disentangled myself from. I looked out of the window to the right, covered in sheer white curtains. I stood up to open the curtains and the window a little, giving myself a clear view of the moon that I had noticed was peeking through the window, full in its presence, situated firmly and freely in the night sky until morning would rise. 

I often stayed up late into the night, mostly laying silently in my bed, trying to withdraw all of my concentration away from the trifling sounds that come from the inside of that house. I lay there for hours, not realizing how much time passes until I glance at the ticking clock. The clock, with its hands moving second by second, at times, reminds me that it is halfway through the night. I am still awake, but I didn't even notice. I wonder what happens - where is it that my mind goes during all that time while I lay awake - fragile and remote, sensing the separation of the layers that I reside within. 

I caught myself looking at the house across the street, a garden full of roses native to the bright, green grass that covered the yard. I wondered what went on inside that house. It was always quiet, except for the sound of a car that went in and out of the garage late at night. The street lights were dim and the roads were empty. I didn’t think anyone would be out at that time of night anyway. 

I liked just sitting there, I realized, with the fire as it shared its warmth beside me as I positioned myself, turning to the right to spend the next two hours gazing outside of that window.