on the verge of some great truth.

I hate the morning. 

I've never been one of those people who wakes up and is stoked to start a new day. 

I'm generally irritable and don't wanna wake up. 

I hit the snooze seventeen times.

I feel loneliest in the morning.

Unmotivated.

I kind of hate everything including my cat who paws at my face at 7:30am every day even on Sunday's, fucking cat.

Ugh.

But in the evenings.....

The evenings I come alive. 

I'm inspired and talkative. 

I believe in things and am fascinated by people. 

Night is when I fall in love and climax alone and make new best friends. 

She texted me out of the blue and I actually love it when people are like, what are you up to right now this second in an hour I want to see your face and go adventuring and you were the person that came to mind right now in this exact moment.

Planning is fine. 

And I understand it's necessity especially for my friends who have such grown up lives their responsibilities outweigh their freedoms. 

But my favorite times are the spontaneous ones. 

The accidental adventures. 

The times I'm at home in my underwear and with one text I'm suddenly driving under the stars racing to see someone because drinking wine in the dark beside them is the only thing that matters. 

We met for a drink which turned into more drinks which turned into getting picked up by guys at the bar who eventually left and then turned into getting picked up by another pair of guys at the bar which turned into us both realizing we weren't interested in any of them so we ran off into the night to yet another bar and after hours and hours of silly conversation and vulnerable conversation and meaningless stories and heartfelt tales she finally looked me in the eyes and asked, Do you wanna go listen to music in your car?

So we parked on some dark corner on some dark street and put our seats all the way back and looked at the stars peering over the trees outside our windows and she picked a song and then I picked a song and then that reminded her of a song and then all of a sudden we were listening to songs I fell in love with when I was nineteen. 

And then the musicals started and I was belting in my car at two in the morning with a girl I've known a mere moment whose holding my hand and so completely present my heart is literally falling in love with her. 

And after I play her the song he spoke to me she tilts her head towards mine, the moonlight bouncing off her cheeks and asks, What if from time to time you sent him a song?

And I turned my head away from her and smiled at the stars and squeezed her hand because I'd spent the week feeling isolated and inundated with ideas from people who didn't understand my heart and nine hours together in the middle of the night music blaring in my car this girl saw my resolute spirit and understood. 

And I felt so happy I could have cried. 

Happy to feel the vast sea of love and pain surging through my veins. 

Happy to be reminded how music is really sometimes all you need. 

And happy to be holding the hand of someone who made me feel less alone, who made me feel seen and accepted. 

And it somehow made it easier on my heart to accept that it may be years before I ever see him again.