[.:Lor:.]

Nightfall. We stretch ourselves out in unmarked hotel rooms, shut our eyes, and just pray we wake in the morning. We live on the freeways. It's routine. It's day upon day of coffee & cigarettes. Five hundred miles and we still haven't managed to put that feeling of longing behind us.

I trace the faint, worn down designs on the peeling wallpaper with my fingernail. I can't sleep. I haven't been able to in ages. That terrible exhaustion has just grown to be part of me. I see the world through heavy lidded insomniac eyes.

Quietly, I slip out of the room. I've devoted the time that used to be used for sleeping to wandering my current living space. I can coast down the hallways like a ghost accompanied by the dull electrical buzz of the lights overhead and feel absolutely at peace.
I love it more than anything I've ever loved before. It's finding beauty where they said there was none. It's sickeningly beautiful, but the thing is that you'll never be able to witness it. It only manifests itself in the hours that most of us have forgotten about.

But what can I say? The night does strange things.