Midnight came and went many times today.
I have never experienced this before. I knew no one was looking when I started turning my head around like an owl to see all the midnights lining up around me.
One started speaking to me. Come. Come this way. Another started speaking. Come this way! It was like when my husband and I would spin our son around on a swivel chair and then both call him to run to us in different directions, and watch him fall over.
Midnight was playing. And so it was time. Time for something.
A little test of what different possibilities could be like in different repeating times. I gave myself a kiss. On the arm. I petted my ankle. I caressed my face. All in different midnights. I was trying to learn to remember what it was like to feel adored, touched because of being beautiful. My only option was myself.
If I did something nice for my skin in many midnights at once, would there come a point at which all of them would hit me simultaneously? I liked the linearity of the repetition, but am a big fan of the non linear. And being touched sweetly all at once in many places by myself was sounding really fun.
I ran my hand through my hair. I pulled my toes. I felt along the line of my hip, with my hand cupped, feeling the tautness of the shape. I traced the edges of my lips.
I felt so loved, and had been so lonely for long, longing for touch, I was ecstatic when suddenly, all the midnights I had just participated in collapsed in on themselves from the weight, and I became like a Picasso painting.
All directions at once, angles at once, like an orgy of self appreciation, self sufficiency, and different sensations all at once, all on the stroke of midnight, the witching hour.
Midnight and I were in love forever. And then, time got quiet, and serene. And the little creek flowed on, tinkling, flashing beside me in the moonlight, and I stared into its linearity, my eyes gazing into the distance, content.
(Special thanks to Hans Moritz for illustrating this fantastic entry)