Shake the Stars out of my Blankets

Night, though my favorite time of day for writing, happens to also be the time when I find myself the hardest to understand. I transform from this composed, structured, bright young girl into a dark, perplexed, mysterious thing.

This is no magic spell, no wicked curse cast upon me since birth. No, this is just what happens inside my head when the sun goes down.

Any emotion--mine or otherwise--that might not have been clear during the daytime hours becomes suddenly lucid, and I can analyze with grave speculation what was going on in everyone's minds throughout the day. Colors and shapes fill the gaps in my thoughts, and there is never a quiet moment for me.

It's getting easier to read people and to cope with their emotions, but at the same time it's only getting worse. Every day I see how much more I have to learn about the human mind, how many more emotions exist that I've never felt before.

I guess I shouldn't call them new, though, because they're all just variations of the basic tones. Sometimes I'll encounter a combination of feeling that I've yet to explore, and that alone is enough to distract me for a whole day...

So at night, I take what I've learned and file it away, sifting through the alien emotions to find the ones that are my own. Until I've found them, I don't sleep; nocturnal life has been my only style these past seventeen years.

All of my flaws come out at night, every imperfection I'm ashamed to say exists. Each time the sun sinks below the horizon line, its pinks and oranges carry away the last persistent vestiges of my sanity, and I delve once again into the violent waters of confusion and misconception.

It's getting late. I'm tired, but I won't be sleeping yet. The light is gone and so is my hope; it's time to let the demons out to play.

Time to see myself for what I really am.