I wonder if I could take photographs of moods, of feelings, what they would look like?
The other day, in the bus with you, when truthfully, we cared more about the scenery flashing by than the destination, I wonder if it would be this soft pink, all washed out and fuzzy and nebulous. There would be a wave of heat in there too, for when we held hands and it was already so hot that summer day. I would hang it on a wall, name it something silly and pretentious like “This is as close as I ever came to happiness”.
Because moments like these don’t really need to have a name. They don’t need a place and date and time. I don’t even remember what day of the week it was. But I can close my eyes and see the soft pink of that day and be there, wherever there was, all over again. And I can feel exactly what I felt when we went by and the sun was setting, and I didn’t even look at you, I didn’t even hear the breaths you would take. All I knew of you was the warmth of your hand, and that was enough.
“At 1 a.m., we are too much of ourselves. At 1 a.m., we cannot handle the thoughts that take a highway to feelings…. At 1 a.m., your heart is a funnel for the feelings of all other hearts. “
I think a major reason why we sleep at night is to avoid living these 1 a.m’s. They are the moments when everything exists through a haze, as though any moment now you would realise you were dreaming and go back to sleep. But it all feels too real, too. The sounds of the neighbour’s air-con going off, the rustling leaves and the silence. It is calm even in your head. But there is no peace. Just contemplation. Just everything, naked, uncaring for the sweetness or brutality of Reality. At 1 a.m., we are too much of ourselves. At 1 a.m., we cannot handle the thoughts that take a highway to feelings.
At 1 a.m., the brain actually shuts down in part, something about needing rest and signalling that you’re tired. But the heart never does—it takes no breaks. So at 1 a.m., you have no thoughts, really. Only memories and sadness. Yes, 1 a.m. is the heart’s reign. So even the sadness is too complicated to dissect. Regret. Fear. Nostalgia. Hope. Useless wishes. Insecurities. This amorphous thing that is Life. At 1 a.m., your heart is a funnel for the feelings of all other hearts.
At 1 a.m., Life stares back at you, asks you who you are and what you’ve done. You’ve had 20 years—what are you now? Who will you be in another 20?
But because your brain is sleeping, because all your defenses are down, the only reply you give is the one that comes from your eyes.