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Sleepless Nights Are F*cking Beautiful
At 4:30am, my favourite time of the day, I put on my oldest pair of Converse shoes, picked up my house key and got out into the foggy morning.
The walkway up to our house was covered with petals that the storms of the other day had shaken off the trees, the air smelled like rain and beauty and the streets were as empty as if the whole world had been deserted.
I sat down in the middle of the street, holding on to that beautiful feeling that my entire surroundings belong to me and to me only.
My feet quite naturally took me through the field and to the tunnel over the traintracks which is the one place upon earth that is closest to my personal idea of heaven.
A year ago they called the police on me, because it is not allowed to sit there and so they robbed me of my paradise, but who is gonna mind so early in the day, whether I am lying there on the cold concrete or not?
It is an odd thing with the concrete and the view.
When I'm there and feel the stonework pressing against my body and my face I don't need anyone to hold me anymore.
I am content and satisfied with looking at the train tracks and feeling the occasional rumbling of a cargo train passing through underneath me.
There is no such thing as emptiness at this place.
Occasionally I hear the distant cries of roosters inbetween the constant chirping of the birds and just before the church bells announce that it is finally 5 o' clock the first passenger train rushes by. Through the illuminated windows I can see that a few early travellers already appear between all those empty seats.
As I ascend the hill that leads away from the tunnel I come across a few dozen rabbits and for a short while I just stare at them in amazement since they have never before dared to come so close to me, but once I raise my hand to get my hair out of my face they disappear.
It must be past 5:30 now and the sun has already risen, even though it is not at all visible through the thick fog of another rainy summer day. I dance through the air while tiny drops of water that are hovering in it hit my skin and add up to all this magic around me.
I climb the trees and while I balance my weight perfectly on a number of boughs of which none could carry my entire weight I am not afraid in the least because I know exactly what I'm doing.
I have always been a tomboy.
It is so unlike being stuck in awkward smalltalk situations where I never know whether I'm too nice or not nice enough or trying to hard or not trying enough.
In this case, on the slippery, partially rotten boughs I know instinctively exactly where to place my next step.
And I close my eyes and laugh because nobody is around to disapprove of me.
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