The glowing sign on Main Street said that it was 1 am and 35 degrees. But it does not feel so chill, nor so late.
Fog blurs the field, the moon, the streetlights, the swings. There is just enough to tint the scene into the surreal.
Why is it so much easier to speak at night? What makes this more effective than if the entire world was lit? Does the physical darkness allow for my words to spark some sort of clarity, some illuminesence, in your mind?
But no matter. We swing back and forth and my mind travels to happy times. I think of little girls scampering after the tire swing. I think of us, not so long ago, climbing these poles.
The silence settles my wild mind. Later, we walk into town, which, save a few bars, is devoid of motion or life. Gold lights twinkle. We peer through the windows of still stores. We will come back one day, but daylight will alter the effect.
Whoever thought I'd be here, now, doing this? But no matter. I want to come back here some night, with you, and show you these places. Show you a bit of my soul. And perhaps you will feel brave enough to illuminate some of yours to me.
Meet me in outerspace...