Poem, Scenic, Short story, Weekend

Asleep while awake.

A subtle drink in a moment, where the sounds grow quiet in a world growing ever darker, ever more quiet as ever more heads lay themselves down on ever more pillows.

I too would rest with them, to hold my pillow tight like a lover I would otherwise lose. To close my eyes and see worlds unseen as I rest.

Instead I sit, I drink and I listen to the silence that builds behind the sounds of flickering flame grumbling embers which hunger for the fuel which warms me in a night not particularly cold.

Another log upon the fire, another bottle of the brewmaster’s handiwork, and the darkness which lingers beyond my door will hold the world fast and make silent in time even the noisiest of those in the world will grow quiet and succumb to the silence of sleep.

I wonder if anyone has ever listened to the sound of the darkness of the night, whether while drinking or no.

It’s a sound not made of owls or bats, not crickets or winds which blow and rustle leaves unseen, it’s a sound unfamiliar to any who seek such things, or are certain they can find by waiting to hear.

It’s the sound of nothing.

The silence only night can bring, in between the sounds which creatures of the night bear forth.

Another log upon the fire and another bottle of the brewmaster’s work, and here I will remain in the silence alone.

Listening to the sounds of nothing, that everyone else will miss. Those unfortunate souls who know only sleep, and not that silence which comes from being the only one left awake.

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