I have always found something incredibly enchanting about the night time. The time where all the judgement and cynicism goes to rest and the only voice to be heard is of our own raging minds. Sometimes at the witching hour, I would sit up and look out my window at the quiet city and think because at the crack of dawn our thoughts would be back at the mercy of a society that we have been taught to obey. There is an untold exception to always be doing something that it starts to get suffocating from how little room there is to just breathe. There always work to do, things to worry about, days to plan for, tasks to tick off from our mental to-do list that any moment spent not thinking about our otherwise insignificant life seems to be a monumental waste of time. So when are we allowed to think? Like a sponge we are saturated with outside stimulants until we start to leak and that pool of outside thoughts is viewed as a result of our own brilliant thinking. I find that to be disturbing as it depicts so clearly how we could go our whole lives without ever just isolating the whole world from us and just letting our thoughts go wild. Because we are a product of our thoughts and when the thoughts aren’t truly our own, we can’t truly be us.
But then again, these are just those pointless thoughts anyways