Midnight

Why is there a secret allure to staying awake? I may have nothing to do, or thousands of undone things to do, but the moments of quite night alone in my apartment seem paramount to everything. Every minute past midnight is a contraband item. I know I shouldn't have it, but I take them all the same with my greedy hands and hoard them with every melodious tick. The longer I hold out for, the more contraband minutes I collect, the greater the struggle necessary to coax me into a release. It's time for bed, it's time to let go of today.