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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460681" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>0213 Late Night Reverie</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">One in three of us, the stats say, lives alone. Sad; <br>but fine if you prefer it that way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's late at night. You're alone. The PC off at last. The TV off.<br>Finally you put aside the book you're reading. The attention's drifting.<br>Too late too, for reading in bed. You should just<br>get up from the chair, switch off the light, <br>etc. But you don't. You just sit there. This<br>is one of life's great private joys. Far better than<br>all the bathroom stuff, the almost idiot moments<br>of waiting for sleep, knowing you'll never catch the moment<br>when sleep takes you; and the more you try, like a child, <br>to catch it, haha got you, the longer it will be before - zap - zzz.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So you sit there, drifting into a glorious haze of irresponsibility<br>as the thoughts fade, the cares fade, you're just two thoughts away<br>or perhaps two non-thoughts away, from something like bliss, <br>and this peace doesn't dwindle you - there's an expansion<br>as if 'someone' doesn't become no-one, but everyone...<br>and there comes to mind, curiously, those greatest moments in the<br>greatest films, when there they are, looking out over Paris or Algiers<br>or wherever, with the soundtrack playing, hardly there but there, <br>and nothing is said, but the whole cinema audience of hundreds<br>is silent, focussed, feeling in those seconds of emotion and stillness<br>that everything real, everything wished for, everything that matters<br>is there. In full.<br>Or in the theatre - sitting there, hundreds of you, weeping silent tears<br>that even those stoic Romans found a phrase for, lacrymae rerum, <br>the tears of things: you all know, she won't take that first step<br>out of herself, he won't try for that job he knows he's wanted<br>all his life; they'll never go to the Moscow of their dreams...yet...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It's like that for you in your armchair.<br>The key to all of life is there, out of reach perhaps, yet<br>known, not out of reach... beyond sadness, beyond happiness<br>in a strange way. It just... is as it is. And that's OK.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Better than just going to bed. Yes, it's a good time.<br>Sleep well.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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but fine if you prefer it that way.

It's late at night. You're alone. The PC off at last. The TV off.
Finally you put aside the book you're reading. The attention's drifting.
Too late too, for..."></div>
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