Nighttime Joy

The moon is beautiful.
The wind, soft and cool against my hot skin.
The clouds, lit by the moon, marbleize the sky like chocolate and vanilla marblezied in a cake.
I walk, breathing in the smell of the darkness.
It's sweet and intoxicating, begging me to stay and breathe more.
As I breathe, I smile, listening to sweet voices only I can hear.
I open my mouth and softly sing along, my voice blending with theirs in a beautiful medley no one will ever fully hear.
Soft at first, and sweet as honey, the notes fall from my lips, spurring another smile.
The music is in my veins, it drives me forward, it reminds me of a whole other dimension of beauty to be experienced.
Pure, ephemeral joy. I see it, feel it, smell it, hear it, and with each note leaving my throat I can taste it.
I keep walking, my notes sometimes failing because the need to breathe takes over.
I spy a person nearby and stop, cut off, biting my lip apologetically until they are out of sight.
Shy, a little scared, doubtful they will understand why I wing while I walk along.
Just like I question if they understan why I am sitting on this sidewalk, writing a poem hurriedly on my phone in the darkness.
When things are created, sometimes they are not things to be understood. Sometimes they are feelings to be shared and felt and expressed.
The moon really is beautiful.