Acquainted with the Night

I have wandered through the rain-soaked streets, feeling the chill of the night seep into my bones. I’ve walked beyond where the city's last flickering light fades into the vast unknown. My feet have carried me farther than the glow of civilization, where the city lights become distant memories. I’ve gazed down the most desolate alleyways, where shadows stretch long and lonely, and each corner holds its own silent sorrow.

I’ve crossed paths with the watchman on his nightly rounds, but I averted my gaze, unwilling to offer an explanation for my presence in this nocturnal world. I’ve paused in the silence, halting my footsteps to listen to the soundless void, only to be startled by a distant, haunting cry echoing from a street far away a call not meant for me, nor a farewell to anyone known.

And further, beyond the realm of the ordinary, I have looked up to see a solitary clock glowing high against the sky, a celestial presence that speaks of a time that exists beyond the boundaries of right and wrong. It hangs in the dark like a ghostly witness, indifferent to human concerns.

I have been one who is well acquainted with the night, where each step is a dance with the shadows, where every moment is filled with an intimate silence, and where time seems to drift like a leaf in the wind neither here nor there, always somewhere in between.