Expectations sometimes go awry.
But they first build us up, don’t they? Expectation, in another word, could be “hope.” And we know that hope deferred makes sick the soul. That winged thing in my heart is meant to fly, and should take me with it. But expectations sometimes go awry. Hope settles among the dust until I am brave enough to gently piece it back together and carefully place it within my heart once more.
The late night draws out the quiet words that wish to be spoken but shy away from the brightness of day. The inked sky blanketed with stars wraps us up until we believe we are intimate and our words will be safe here. And so we say what has been hiding from the sunlight, whispers said into the night, into the ear of a lover, friend, or even stranger.
I like neon lights.
I like their harshness and electric blaze, like needles of color against the darkness. I like how words are carved into the air, unflinching, unfading. Perhaps if I had spoken in neon signs rather than in whispers you would have understood more clearly