Lights Off

Saturday, 8:41 PM. Earth hour. Los Baños becomes nothing but a phantom silhouette—a haunting afterimage trapped in a glass universe, a distant cosmic echo; reduced to faint outlines fading out into darkness. Humans taper off into pale wandering ghosts.

The stars are in full bloom tonight.

It’s easier to get lost in the incarcerating qualms of one’s infinitesimal existence. Without violent neon glows and blinding horizons to distract from the infinite oceans of nothingness, one is left to float among elusive shadows and falling atmospheres; still quietly wondering.

Surely enough, it’s only an hour of vespertine vigil, barely a notch in time; before the lights flicker back on, and reality takes its steady hold on this hazy daydream once more.

But for now, this pure nothingness—frigid breeze coalescing with transient eventide,

It’s beautiful.

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