At the strangest moments, all the feelings I have felt before, every single one of them from my life as long ago that I can remember to a heartbeat ago, they flood into my mind. I remember it all, but no–it is not at the strangest moments. It is at night, always at night.
Sometimes at night, I see things that aren’t really there. I see snow falling outside the window. I see my father and my mother in my face in the mirror. Maybe those things are there though–who am I to know?
It is only at night that I let myself see what is always really there. It is only at night that I let myself realize that I have no idea what I am doing with my life and where I am going. What will I do after college? What do I want to be printed on that piece of paper when I walk across the stage? I have stayed in many a lives as I search for my own.
In many ways I am ready to go home but in many ways, I am not. It is only at night that I let myself see the broken holes in my heart. Only when the sun disappears that my eyes are strong enough to see this, all of it that is always there. Funny, isn’t it, this game of life? That’s all I’m doing really–playing.