There is also night in me.

There is a night out
There is also night in me.
In the background, the windows,
small illuminated butterflies,
They give way to other mortals.
But isn’t clarity scary?
I opened my crystals, once again
This winter is back.

The city pulsed with life as night descended like a velvet curtain. Somewhere in the hum of laughter and distant music, I wandered, feeling the pull of the world outside, yet tethered to a quiet storm brewing within me.
There was a night out—brilliant, shimmering, vibrant. The streets were rivers of light, each window a glowing ember against the dark canvas. Small, illuminated squares fluttered like butterflies caught in a glass cage, granting glimpses into the lives of other mortals. Some laughed over dinner; others danced to melodies only they could hear. I stood still, an outsider gazing into their warmth, yearning for a piece of their clarity.
But isn’t clarity scary?
The thought shivered through me as I caught my own reflection in a fogged-up café window. My eyes, those betrayed crystals of mine, opened once again, daring to face what I’d hidden. They weren’t ready. Or maybe they never would be.
Winter was back. Not just in the air that numbed my fingertips, but in the hollow of my chest. It crawled beneath my skin, freezing memories I’d hoped to thaw. Memories of her laughter, the way her presence had been my summer. How she left, leaving behind a season that never ended.
I found myself at the edge of the park, where the snow clung to the skeletal trees like ghosts in waiting. The world outside was loud, alive, but I felt its whispers creeping into my silence. A bench beckoned me, its iron arms open wide, welcoming the weight of my solitude.
The stars above sparkled indifferently, their cold beauty mocking my turmoil. I leaned back and closed my eyes, trying to shut out the world’s glow, but it seeped in anyway. Like those butterflies in the windows, like the winter in me.
The night stretched, endless and unkind. But in its stillness, I realized something: even the darkest winters relent. The frost on the windows melts. The butterflies, however small, find a way to glow. Maybe I wasn’t as frozen as I thought. Maybe I could hold onto the fragments of light and let them guide me through this night and the one within.
As the bells of a distant clock tower chimed midnight, I rose. The winter was still here, but I felt its sharp edges dull, just a little. With each step I took, I let the night out and the night within blend, trusting they’d find their own harmony.
For even in winter, there is always the promise of spring.