The hard part of the night

A few weeks ago I binged both seasons of the Netflix show ”You”. Don‘t worry, no spoilers here. I was simply reminded of a tiny insignificant detail that I wanted to write to you about.

In the first episode, one of the characters, an aspiring yet unsuccessful poet goes to a poetry slam, and in her inebriated state, sums up the courage to read her poem. It's a shitty poem, as it's meant to be in this scene. But there was something she said that struck me as being not very shitty at all. The phrasing was novel, yet the sentiment was easily accessible. It's what good poetry is meant to be; universal experiences presented through an unfamiliar lens.

"The hard part of the night." I repeated it to myself a few times, then promptly forgot about it.

I was reminded of it tonight. To tell you the truth, I didn't intend to even write this much. It's already 1:14AM, and when the feeling struck, I was half convinced I should just turn off the light and go to bed. But I felt obliged to tell you about it, so I'll keep it short.

The night has its hard parts. There is space to think and overthink and care. Everything suddenly matters, yet it's the realization that very little truly does. I could tell you about anything, write about anything. Use words like love and fear and hope, and not worry about coming across as self-indulgent or pretentious. I can write selfishly at night.

Tonight, I allow myself to be selfish about it. Tonight, I am looking for something specific. I find myself going through my Youtube playlist entitled "gems I discover at 3 am" and its exactly what I needed. A reminder that life is not nearly as complicated as the daytime fools us into believing. That we have not forgotten how to feel, and dance, and find beauty in simple things.

The night is easy in that way.