nyctophilia

You stole my nights away from me.
You made my fingers fall in love with the sound of the typewriter as the keys rang in rhythm with the restless hands of my pocket watch.
You made my noctuaries flood with your name, and I have only me to blame.
You may never have known this but you made me the nyctophile that I am for it is at night that I learned to find peace and more of it when I spent it, entirely, with your thoughts till the dawn came rushing and I fell asleep, not off fatigue or sleeplessness but off the fright that the light may wash, the dreams I had about you, off my wide open eyes.
You made my quills run out of ink, my songs of words and my heart of a will to be invested.
& you still do.

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