Nights of waking memories

Tonight,

Of today,

Will tell me a tale, 

I couldn't hear in the day.

The day doesn't let me.

With all these people swarming around me.

Tonight,

Of today,

Will shove in a tale before my mind's eye,

The tale of a memory that got pushed back,

A memory that I'd forgotten,

And didn't even know had lost it,

Until tonight.

The tale spins in my mind.

The disquiet alarms. 

I have to hear this.

This tale of a memory.

Of genial tempests and stormy quietudes.

Sometimes it’s a single one.

Sometimes they are many.

Sometimes they clothe me in sadness.

Sometimes they are funny.

The night will come again,

I know.

I hope it brings a new memory.

And not the same old one.

Because I’d want to feel different tomorrow.

But I’ve little control over what's in store.

Or maybe the night's plan,

Is a string of memories.

To keep my mind alive.

Hoodwink slumber.

Give it food for thought.

Literally.

And on it will go.

Day by day.

A new night.

An old memory.

A fresh night.

A stale memory.

The moment I close my eyes for the day,

A story starts playing in my head.

A story without a beginning or an end.

A story I can't foretell.

A new one each day.

Composed of old and older memories.

That's how the nights roll for me.

Telling me the stories in my life.

Pricking me with my ambitions.

My failures and my wins.

My gains.

And my losses.

Is there a message here?

No.

I am just a bit more observant than you I guess.