Outside are the twinkling of distant lights,
like a thousand tiny screams, they pierce the black sky.
Breath forms clouds of cotton steam before whispering into the air.
There is laughter in the distance that echoes off of buildings and bounces from tree
to ground to ear.
But at the same time, the atmosphere is without sound-
silence blankets the night with its cold hands that call for rest.
Lights are still on in the rooms of buildings, as golden cubicles of life remind
outsiders what lies within.
But here I sit, on my blue exercise ball, feeling the massage of industrial carpet
on my bare feet. Burgundies, greens, and cream colors swirl together in a dirty palette on the floor. The radiator in the corner of the room hums a hushed melody of slumber.
The warm air whirrs and spins before floating into the room.
It is time for sleep.