9:00 P.M.
The streets are asleep while the voices retreat to the warmth of their own home.
The voices are gone, but I am still here.
Streetlight; mini suns stationed above the asphalt so smooth at my feet.
Their light guides me along, but I have no destination.
Yellow lines, still bright like fire.
They guide me like a dog for the blind.
They guide me to a place so peaceful and calm,
Where my thoughts howl louder than a wolf.
The warm summer air is gentle on my skin,
Not too hot, but not too cold that I shiver.
It’s dark all around, I only see the tunnel that the streetlight gives.
But when I arrive, that’s all I need.
The perfect recipe for peace.