At night my thoughts will range out, flying free, like bats from a cave at dusk. I crave the openness, I mourn the time I walked at night without fear, in my jaded youth, knowing death stalked but paying it no mind, I wandered down streets and alley ways, across fields and into forgotten buildings, around the prone bodies, some asleep, some merely waiting for some signal known only to themselves. I walked with arrogance, among the fallen, and the trash and needles, feeling invincible and savoring the night, the fog, the moon, the stars, the flash of headlights, and the small night creatures who shared my joy of the darkness. I knew the smells of danger - and the rancid aroma of fear and anger. And yet I am still here. Old now, and longing for that strange freedom that youth provides. The knowing and ignorance that rolls together, raw and with that small heat that spices living. And I know that given the chance to be young again, I would be as reckless again, perhaps even more so.
