One of those Nights

It’s one of those nights where it’s not even 9:30 and I keep yawning. A part of me thinks I should go to bed early and another part of me thinks I’d like to stay up all night and sit at my desk, writing and drinking whisky just like Francoise does in She Came to Stay. That’s how you’d find me when the sun came up in the morning: with sleep in my eyes and tousled hair, tired but satisfied. 

Then again, I’m not a night owl. I’ve tried to be and it just doesn’t work out. So I guess it’s true when people say you can’t force yourself to be somebody you’re not. 

Today was a day for thinking, and talking on the phone, and more thinking. I stared at screens a lot, and then I stared at my reflection and imagined what I’d look like with curly hair. I also ate a whole pizza and didn’t even feel full afterwards. 

It’s an ‘almost the end of February’ kind of night. Is it winter or is it spring? Nobody quite knows. The neighbour is still practicing his guitar and the world is still in lockdown. A lot of things are the same but a lot of things are different. And a lot of me is different but a lot of me is also the same. It’s quite a relief: to know that you can shed so much of that which you no longer wish to be but still retain the core of your person. 

But on the other hand, it’s scary. It’s scary to think about who people really are at their core and realize, maybe, that they can never change. Sometimes you beg people to change; sometimes you pray that people will change; sometimes they tell you that they’ve changed. But they can’t and they don’t and they haven’t, and it breaks your heart a little to have to accept that.

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