Night Air

A knock.

Or a tap, maybe.

A soft sound,

but

definitive.

The door creaks.

It always has.

Night air feels different

than daytime air.

Come in.

The air is thick with the light, clear shards of

starlight

where they've fallen

from nowhere.

Nothing breathes

outside.

The floors creak, too. The boards

track each foot

step.

Please, sit.

The chair legs scrape,

grasping

at the floor.

Tea?

The cup clinks on the saucer.

The water sounds

desperate,

then calm.

Thank you.

But you can't put it off,

you know.

I know.

...

Night air feels different

than daytime air.

When you stop breathing, you can

still

feel it.