Purple Nights

Purple Nights

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The book was launched. It was a raucous affair. And I was grateful for everyone who came. And the divilish version of my mind still made note of everyone who wasn’t. Because insecurity feeds on success at times. But I will remember that purple night fondly, despite the divil’s efforts.

And there will be music, and more poems, and more lines I scrawl in notebooks no one will read. And I’ll worry that I focus on myself too much, and know that to be true. I will bend through life like a willow and be proud of that resilience.

I will continue to base essays and stories on dreams I’ve had. My best work continues to happen at night. To call it ‘mine’ is a stretch when I’m not even really doing it. It is happening. Creativity is happening to me more often than I am being creative.

And there will be sadness and despair. And the world will continue to churn in awful combinations of colours that bring out the worst in so many of us. The worst things in the world trickling into all our minds, making us nasty, angry, vengeful. But this is the way it will be until it isn’t.

And I will try to find as many purple nights as possible and store them in my memory pillows. Because my brain will use them to create hopeful things in the night. And this is how I will endure.