Writing in the calm of the night

I never

I never really write in the calm of the night. I never write when I stay home for the evening. I never write when I had dinner early, when I took an early shower, when I made myself some tea. I never write when I burned a candle to settle into the evening.

I always write after trouble. I always write after fights. I always write after revelations, agitation, ponderation. I always write when the feeling is strong.

What would a story sound like if it were written in peace? What would a poem sound like if it were written in bliss? What would I sound like?

I’ve only ever felt that my writing is good when it comes from chaos. After all, if I bear no heavy emotion, no breakthrough revelation, then what is there to write about?

Writing has always felt like relief, but I can’t find relief if I’m already in it. I suppose I’m seldom in it, so this question doesn’t come up often.

But today, on this somewhat chilly November Friday night, I decided to stay in. It’s barely 9pm and I’m showered, fed, and content. Whenever I have free time I write, but today’s free time found me in quite a rare form of bliss.

Might I have nothing to say? Impossible.

There is always something to say.

For today I suppose it will be the gentle appreciation I have for a quiet mind like the one I seem to hold today. I’ve always wondered if this is what peace feels like. Few thoughts. Few questions?

My mind feels like melted honey. Flowing gently within my head. It feels aglow. Not like a bright star, but more like the subtle subterranean glow of a candle.

My jaw is unclenched, my eyes are drooping as I feel sleep approaching. Is this happiness? Can I share this with someone?