Marathon

Alright it's late and here I am. Sick. And unable to sleep. Again. Which leads me to this... So I'm sure this happens to several of you--the midnight brain marathons. The ones where you stare at the clock as it ticks away the minutes that leads into the hours of early morning sleeplessness. 
Yep. 
That's me. Tonight--right now.
Oh I'm replaying every woulda-coulda-shoulda scenario and thus far I've concluded that my midnight brain marathons seem to be a mixture of a Mexican soaps on crack. Now you may be asking how this is possible. I'll tell you. It's no easy task to combine the two, but I make it work. Well I can't come to a clear conclusion to that because everyone I live with is asleep and luckily, can't read my mind. But back to the soap opera on crack. It's every detail from the memories I want to change except the colors are more vibrant the faces more exotic and the locations are full of color and richness. And in these beautiful little moments of drama I shout my feelings, and expect some outlandish return of love. I guess I am a writer...as I crawl back to bed, the sky loses it's night time pigment, and I am reminded why I love to write so much. Because in those sentences I can be free. I can write down some random thought, or feeling and be free of them.  And in so many ways a lot of the stories I write I leave some part of myself behind for others to see. And though they're my stories I hope that someone will read them and think wow I can relate. So much so, that they can't help but feel that what I've written directly includes them. When this moment happens I'll know that I've done my job as a writer. That I've helped someone escape--lose themselves, or even find a sanctuary in the off white pages.