Saturday nights.

Saturday nights always come in the simplest of manners. They arrive quietly. Jazz them up a bit with a tune from Lisa Ono. Fridays are meant to be forgotten. Caught in between the presence of free nights, Saturdays nights are the beginnings of ends. Hollow as the week may be, cast the worries aside for a night of forgetting. Borrow some time, without returning, to enjoy moments of gentle breeze into the illuminated room. Or is it a warm and humid night? Fix a cocktail of freezing desire. But never drink more than you should. Nights are wasted if you drift away in careless slumber. Are the night lights everywhere? You can do with a little darkness. In an easy manner, be somber and awake to the intangible peace of the Saturday night. Ten minutes older, you remember to forget the five days before the Saturday. What did you do in the day? Cannot remember huh? Be invincible; be forgetful, as noisy as a bat with a sudden obstacle to avoid. Nothing touches you if you forget. Saturdays are not for us to reflect. The nights are for us to forget. Remember to forget. Je suix vivant! Choked by uttering in a tongue you are clueless about? Tu es mort. As silent as silence can be. Close those weary eyes and imagine darkness, where no light can touch and be glad; very glad that the week is beginning again. Ich bin immer hier. Midnight comes as quickly as the night departs. It’s Sunday.