It isn’t always lonely in the dark. Sometimes the shadows keep me company, the night sounds keep me thinking. But there are the lonely nights…
Most of the lights are extinguished, the street is silent with the exception of an occasional car, one that always seems as lost as I am. That’s when the questions creep, and the stomach works itself into a frenzy. That’s when all of my failures seem monumental and my successes nonexistent.
These lonely times are when the night bares its fangs, showing me that life is not all right. Life is dangerous and scary, and ending up in a gutter with a bottle of cheap malt liquor in my hand and gangrene in my foot is a real possibility—and that’s if I’m lucky.
Death, loss, failure. I hear them giggle from behind the dark things in my mind. They don’t have to be silent anymore, because they have me—now they’re just toying with me.
These lonely times are when nothing is funny. Things that have made me laugh now make me remorseful. Favorite songs bring melancholy memories, or bitter reminders that life is not how it once was. And it’s hard—so damn hard—to realize how good things really are.
Most nights, I am ruler. I am a king, sitting at my desk in my top-floor apartment, looking down at the world and smiling the smile of the pleased. Most nights, I am more alive than I am during the day. Most nights, I am happy—glad for what I have, and ambitious for what I don’t have.
But there are the lonely nights.