Evenings.

It's finally that time of the day: evening. Not just any part of evening -- late evening, the part where I get to shut off, casually dive into the softness of my sheets, and feel my body instantly release the day's stress. I then, very carefully, let my head fall gently into the perfect opening amongst the labyrinth of pillows; the soft, fading scent of a floral candle wafts through the air. 

This, to me, is happiness. This, to me, is safety -- a time and place when I do not have to wonder if an email will arrive, its sender waiting impatiently for an urgent reply, or a knocking at my door, someone demanding my time and attention whilst taking with them a dose of my energy, one at a time.   

This, to me, is MY time. I do not have to give any portion of myself to anyone else. No one needs me in this moment. No one will demand anything from me in this moment. I can refill; I can finally give my attention to the one person I have forgotten about throughout the day: myself. 

Not only do I need this time, I crave it. I too often forget its importance. During this time I get to step out of my "roles", take off each layer of duty, and turn on my favorite tool: my imagination, also something I too often forget the importance of. 

I can feel it happening. Upon the union of head to pillow, I feel the day's version of myself leave my body like breath exiting the lungs, slowing pulling the veil off and allowing my mind to stand alone, unprotected, vulnerable, yet so clear and capable. 

As much as I fight the thought, I know that this is the part of me that few get to see. This is the part of me that makes me feel alive, yet I share it with no one, still uncomfortable at even the thought.

The memories of waking up at night with words and phrases soaring through my mind, itching so badly to get out, are distant yet vibrant. Nights where I awoke to sketch, to write, to let my imagination soar and breath into changing forms -- all memories now. I long to be woken up with this urgency again, someday. Tomorrow. Today. Tonight.

The time may not be clear, but the shift in subject is. 

I remember, for years, I loved evenings because my thoughts and developing dreams would consist of fantastical ideas of life, primarily of love. A princess at heart, I wanted to be swept off of my feet. I wanted for someone to see me and want me more than anything else in the world. I wanted to be someone's goal, someone's favorite being, forever. I created short film-like sequences in my mind each evening. I imagined every possible scenario of my own personalized prince charming coming into my life. I created each and every detail -- the angle at which he would see me from across the room, the feeling he would get deep in his gut upon the sighting, the background sounds creating the mood, the atmospherical lighting -- because to me, every detail was important. In that moment, everything would align. This, re-imagined, whether it be the person, the scenario, or the timing, was the subject of my evening thoughts and dreams. 

I do not know if time, experience, age, or life in general, has caused a shift in these late-night images, but somehow they have changed. My once clear visions of meeting that special person have faded and rarely, if ever, make a reappearance. Now, during this time of my day, my imagination is full of other scenarios. Rather than my inner princess drawing up moments of meeting prince charming, my inner warrior now imagines each and every detail of myself sitting on a late night show, explaining to the world the content of the novel I have written. I rewind and re-word the way I explain the importance of key events in my autobiography. I find more colorful ways to explain how the places I visited changed my life. I picture myself speaking to a group of wide-eyed listeners about the importance of fighting human trafficking and encourage them to join the coalition I have been a part of for years, using all the work we have done to save victims as an encouragement. These are my new dreams.

So here I lie, nestled in a place where I feel free to imagine. And I think, looking at the transition of my thoughts and desires, that I will always have a bit of my old dreams within me. Buried deep, carefully protected from others, I think they will always be a part of me. I reflect on the fact that my thoughts, upon the opening of my imagination, are now different. I do not judge what was or is, but I appreciate that in these moments, I can still feel alive. In these moments, I am reminded that I can leave everything else behind and create a world that makes me feel deeply happy; I can dream, as big of a dream as I desire, and it will never seem out of reach. Because it's finally that time of the day: evening.