I learned recently that young adults’ brains are more active much later than matured adults, and this would explain so much of why my mind has historically waits until midnight to start churning at its maximum strength.
It’ll leave itself enough time to settle before the sun rises, at which point the silk of fatigue brings to light flashes, mirages of ideas and moments to be created, to be had. From now on I must have an Aristotelian sleep, and hold a pen in my hand, fury of sketches at the ready
