Sleeper 1972

It's 1:40 a.m. on a Wednesday, and all of the people should be sleeping. I should be sleeping. But I'm glad I'm not. I want to wake all of you from your crusty-eyed slumber in your disheveled sheets. I want you to greet the silence beyond your open-windowed screens. You should be outside, walking with the one you love. Walking over asphalt trails, your footsteps hollow in the dark. And don't say anything. Just walk. People always think they have to say something. Don't. And if you don't have someone to walk with, walk alone. People always think they need someone to walk with. You don't. I wish I would have walked longer, alone in the dark. I wish I could remember how much I value being alone. But I don't. Embrace loneliness. You can't truly value someone's company unless you know what life is like without it. Wake up! Nights as empty and as beautiful and as clean as this don't exist in your sleep. They hardly exist in your wake. And you sleeping fools, you drowsy angels, you're missing it.