it’s midnight
i’m drinking blueberry wine
and eating plain white bread
both are good
albeit, strange at midnight

it’s got a little fizz and a hum
odd contrast with white bread, but it works
it's got heat transfer hitting my throat
i feel warm and content in the empty space of the living room

i can't sleep
school’s coming back up on Monday
i’ve got an hour's drive that morning
and class starts at eleven

but i am sitting in my living room
and another reason i could not sleep was this:
you see, i had this story i wanted to write and one of the lines goes,

“how can a man be so cold while the world burns him at the same time?”

i don’t know if it fits my character but i thought maybe he is the kinda man who suddenly feels the world all at once and sometimes there is an existential crisis that rattles his soul

there are times he must scream and times he has this feeling that he cannot grasp

he’s in character development so i’m still working on it

working on his character, i think sometimes, he would be one to have a cup of blueberry wine.

and characters are like bizarre splinters of ourselves

it is strange

almost as strange as not sleeping.

almost as strange as writing a poem about not writing.

© SteelBlue