Bookmark #181

The wintry air at four in the morning whistled as I sat on a bench sipping from a bottle of beer. The entire world was asleep; it seemed. No sound beyond the wind, a few dogs barking about, and the music humming softly in my ears. I sat on the bench, my feet on the railing as if I owned everything before me.

For a second, I believed it too because no one was there to question me or contest my outrageous claim. I laughed. It was all mine at that hour—the city with its lights, the hills and the trees, the sky with the gazillion stars; all mine. I sipped again, and I stared. I stared at the view in front of me.

Everyone I knew was asleep up in the rooms. I was there alone. I sat there staring, expressionless, only to be interrupted by my audacious thought again. It was mine: the navy blue sky, the moon, the lamp in front of me, the bench. No one could contest for anything at that hour. I laughed again. No one could do anything at all. They were all asleep, warm and cosy, sleeping snug in their beds. I couldn’t sleep.

That is why I had come down to sit on the bench anyway. Why else would someone come down into the cold? The world belonged to those who couldn’t sleep, irrespective of their own, personal whys. I stayed there for a few songs and until the pint lasted. I was there until the pint lasted. The songs were an excuse.

I went upstairs. The last draft of wind sent a shiver down my spine as I closed the door. I stared at my city from the large glass window in our room. Then, I poured myself the last of the leftover rum in a glass that already had some coke in it. I sat on the chair near the window, and I watched my sky.

No one could take it from me at four in the morning. I was the only one up. Everyone else was asleep. It was a silent night, just me, unable to sleep, a few dogs barking about, unable to sit quietly, and the few gusts of wind, unable to pass on the opportunity to make someone cold.

At some point, I dozed off, and when I woke up, I owned nothing again.

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