Every night, the clock stops. Time freezes right between 2 and 3 A.M. Everything, everyone is still.
I wait for this hour, this one hour where the entire world is mine. I wait each night to go and breath the crisp air and soak in the cobalt sky. Everything is so peaceful. So serene.
All is still except the wind and me. I lay across the overgrown lawn, sinking comfortably into the moisten soil. The ground adjusts to my body and becomes my own safe haven. I twirl blades of grass between my thumb and forefinger as I close my eyes and absorb everything around me. I feel my chest rise and fall delicately with each breath and the grass tremble an trace along my skin as the wind softly blows.
I see the stars above me. I see the planets. There are so many universes, so many millions of moons we can’t see and breezes we have yet to feel on our skin. Our Earth, this country, this town, is all so miniscule. The grass I am so comforted atop of and the street lights illuminating the pavement mean nothing compared to the vast amount of everything out there. This is temporary. We are temporary. Time is temporary.
As the hour comes to a close, a wander back underneath my covers and wait for the next time the world will be mine.
Porcelain Prose 