There are a lot of reasons why I belong to the crowd who prefers the night instead of mornings.
One of it is due to the fact that most shitty things happen as the sun comes up. My coffee will be the intentional shakes and orders to wake-up from the woman occupying next to my room. That woman who looked like my mother and probably the same one who gave birth to me but not the one I could still call as one.
If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to have a breakfast with the non-stop blaming from her, making small things into big waves. If you talk back to her, you’ll kill yourself. If you don’t answer her and let it be, you’ll also kill yourself.
There wasn’t any winning scenario no matter how you try to look for one.
However, when the world is asleep, when the darkness engulf the sky and the stars and the moon greets you, it’s comforting. Especially the silence associated with it.
When you’re the only one who’s awake, that’s the time when things are perfect. You forget the shitty things that happened today. The crap you had to take, the wounds your soul had to endure. Sure, there will be flashes that will appear every now and then. And maybe, the heart won’t be able to forget (I mean, who would forget when you’re own mother kept making you feel that you’re the bad sheep of the family? And that she’ll never be proud of you?), but at the very least… it’s quiet.
I know I was different ever since I was a kid. I knew it by heart and probably, all thanks to the people who beat my soul to the death. I like waking up during nighttime instead of its mornings. And I always loved it. The coldness, the silence and the small waves of stars (and moon).
And even if I am crying right now while I type this, I would still choose the night time to comfort me while I am still hurting.