Nightlight

Feb 11 2012, nearing midnight

I'm thinking a lot today. My mother is in the same room as I am. She is surfing as I type away while listening to Lights.

Some people are just these enigmas. Locked doors, closed and unrevealing. But somewhat beautiful. I have always wondered how it would be to unlock them, open them and peer inside. I wonder why they seemed so beautiful with their words, their actions, and sometimes even just their existence. They're really beautiful you know, eyes telling but not really so. Smile happy. I could wonder helplessly about their childhood - was it fun? Why do they look sad and joyous at the same time? Are they the angels we see in our dreams? In our climatic nightmares? I wonder how they are when they are alone, maybe thinking too much or staring intently at the ceiling of their... home? apartment? parents' house? I might sound like a stalker, but I feel the need to think of these questions, these details. I don't know them and that's the thing. They're just people but still. Something is there and why would they be so intricately gorgeous? Why do they strangely appear lithe while just SITTING there? It's stupidly incomprehensible. It irritates me because of the pull, the attraction i feel mingling with striking curiosity. Are they targets? The world's magnets? Is their head a blur of loud words or a deserted lot? Or both? Do they know they stand out? Captivate? Kill just by doing so? I'm angry. Is this actually giving me a time of anguish? Stupid. Am I the deer in the headlights? Craving the information of an otherworldly stranger? Am I falling into an obsession? A silly thing. Maybe it's painful and heartbreaking to see them cry. Maybe it shatters a heart, hammers it until it's crashing down to a pair of feet. Are they the twinkling stars up there tonight? Are they the insect in an amber or the amber around an insect? Are they trapped? Are they rare? They're still beautiful. They're still insanely enchanting. Do they fall into Witchcraft or God's Gift? I wonder what their heart looks like. Is there glass everywhere? Is it dark? Are there phantoms inside? Do their thoughts sound like an orchestra of violins and violas or a collision of a hundred trucks? How do they see life? The world? People? What do they think of war and peace and love? Do Pac-Man and his enemies travel in their veins?

Who are they?