Lingering Hues of Passion

Ten o’ clock at night, and my heart still longs for something.

Something I haven’t had in a while.

The city lights were distant, and for once, the night was quiet. Except for the continuous thoughts running in my head. The bed creaked underneath me as I shifted, turning to face the dimmed bedside lamp. I couldn’t sleep, even if I wished to. My day would start early again tomorrow, working hours in the office until the clock strikes 5 PM.

But no matter how much I tried, I still couldn’t sleep.

There was this itch inside of me, nothing I could aid with medicine or creams. Even if I forced myself to think in a form of crunching numbers, I couldn’t stop the abstract visuals tonight. Colorful, rhythmic. I’ve never hesitated to let this in before, but since it’s been a while, I shuddered. Sitting up abruptly, I let out a heavy sigh. Swinging my feet to the edge of my bed, I stood up. It was late in the night— I never usually do this, as earlier work drained me to the bone, and I had better things to do by morning.

This, however, called to me.

I couldn’t stop myself from sitting at my desk, eyeing the dust coated stack of sketchbooks and papers. Musical notes danced in harmony along the lines. Pages filled with lines and color, which contrasted to the walls of neutral hues I had grown used to seeing. Flowy watercolor paint graced the pages, intricate details I thought I could never do. After what seemed like eons, I was finally staring at something I had loved for a long time instead of a boring excel spreadsheet.

There was a sudden jolt of joy thrumming in my veins. One I couldn’t explain, but nothing I could ever complain about. A long push-and-pull process is over. The heart tugs at desire, yet the mind remains fixated on what I need to be most—practical.

I closed the sketchbook gently, as if afraid the moment would shatter if I moved too fast. The joy lingered, soft but persistent, like a melody refusing to fade. Tomorrow, I would return to numbers, deadlines, and schedules that paid the bills and kept the lights on. That was the choice I had made—and one I would continue to make. But tonight reminded me of something important: practicality may dictate how I live, but it does not own everything I am. Some parts of me still breathe in color, still listen for rhythm in the silence. And maybe that is enough… for now.