Do you ever have those nights where you just can't sleep? I don't mean that you keep waking up, but where you can't even get to bed? I don't know what it is, but sometimes I just can't bring myself to sleep.
Oftentimes I feel my most creative at night. I begin to have all sorts of ideas and things I'd like to do. I'd like to get out all my paints and a large canvas and work the colors into the fabric until my eyes start to close. I'd like to read T.S. Eliot poems three times over because I can't understand what they mean the first and second times. I'd like to go through all the short little videos I have of my family and friends and string them together, to make them into something I can watch years later and still recall that certain feeling of when they were first taken. I'd like to take the petals off all the slowly dying tulips in my house and press them into books to find months from now.
These are the kinds of things I think about. And so I can't sleep. And the only thing possibly tugging my desire to go to bed now is reading The History of Love by Nicole Krauss, because it reads like this:
“Once upon a time there was a boy who lived in a house across the field from a girl who no longer exists. They made up a thousand games. She was Queen and he was King. In the autumn light, her hair shone like a crown. They collected the world in small handfuls. When the sky grew dark they parted with leaves in their hair.”