blankness

at 2 a.m., there’s total
stillness.
the curtains are drawn,
heavy and thick, blocking out
all light.

in the quiet of the cottage
there’s no stimuli.
no traffic, no sirens rushing by
setting the night alight with
coloured noise.

outside a cicada chirps
then falls silent.

there’s nothing.

in the bleak dark of night
there’s nothing to see,
no need for pretension.

no need to do anything.

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