Day 22. Franklin Hill

I am afraid of the dark.
It is the kind of afraid that brings an addicting hit of adrenaline.
In Looking for Alaska, Alaska tells Miles: run run run.
and that's the way it is.
I leave home accidentally, loudly. Fists balled at my hips in my pockets, making inconsequential noises to scare away crickets.
Walk up a hill a couple blocks away from my house and come back and it shouldn't make me different but it does.
L.A. isn't something I feel like i belong to until I get far enough away to see the lights.
I've seen countless sunsets, nine Fourth of July fireworks, twice, a lunar eclipse. But mostly I go for the city lights, on at midnight, on at two am. Sometimes a man stands in the middle of the street and turns to me complaining of headaches.
I go for the moon. Because the moon gives off no light itself; it only reflects the light of a thousand stars. It is coldly luminous; the aloof woman in the corner of the room smirking at you, whose lies become her.
Sometimes, there are stars, which seem to me the distant headlights of cars twinkling as they rocket around curves of universe. Sometimes I expect someone to stop me, or follow me. But in the night. people take separate paths.