I could write about

I could write about a breeze, that breeze at twelve midnight, that breeze thick as darkness, this breeze that greets you as you speed up the bike, that breeze that kisses your forehead, that whispers into your ears the most comforting lullabies: cicadas? or insects I've never seen before, a collective hum, then shadows of warm streetlights, moths encircling, then starlight when you look upward, gathering memories from a thousand days before, then ghosts on your path, brittle limbs of trees cracking as you swerve your way to where your home will always be.