01:00 a.m. City Park.

After the streetlights went out, I walked on the quiet road, with pace slow and light. The night was a silent symphony, in which thousands of dreams, either from living or non-living matters, crashed together and combined. I love the beauty of darkness. There is always a kind of feeling that only in darkness can everything be alike. At this time, poor or rich, dead or alive, everything owned a piece of the night.

I walked with my intuition, gently admiring nature’s might. It was the time to dive into the scattered thoughts and get excited one more time. Could life originate from viruses? Could renew cerebrospinal fluid cure Alzheimer’s Disease? Though I couldn’t test these ideas in a laboratory, darkness gave me the opportunity to test them in my mind.

The third law of thermodynamics should apply to both living and non-living matters, such as neurons in my brain and water molecules in the lake—although they’re separated, when decades later, my organic flesh decomposed to become inorganic, with the increasing entropy, I know they will collide.

All the matter should be following one theory that governed the night. I walked on and wondered why so many lives—insects, birds, frogs and myself—chose to stay quiet at this time.

Could I be the music, to wake up this infinite night?

That’ll leave to the future me to find out how and why.