Sous la lune

Twilight, a couple of volts of light from street lamps and the clinking of bottles that no one counts. My head is buzzing, my thoughts are clouded, and everything seems calm - but beneath this silence, fatigue creaks. I just want to stay under the moon, take a sip, breathe in - and stop explaining, at least for a moment, why there's more smoke than air inside.

Everything around seems the same: the same street, the same people, the same laughter for no reason. Only now it sounds a little duller. Happiness has become not a goal, but a side effect - like Vodka-Schweppes with Agrum: bitter, but invigorating. And somewhere between the roar of engines and the weary ‘t'inquiète,’ life can still be felt - uneven, but real.