Things That Visit Us at Night - Peony Magazine

 

When the house finally goes quiet, and the moon spills through the blinds like a memory, I start thinking about the people I’ve hurt. Not intentionally, not cruelly, just carelessly, like children often do when they don’t yet understand how heavy their hands can be.

My sister’s laugh used to annoy me. It was loud and easy, like she didn’t know the world was supposed to be hard. I was the older one, sharper, quicker with words that cut deeper than I ever meant. I used to mock her drawings, hide her toys, and make her cry just to feel in control of something. We grew up and drifted apart, different cities, different lives. But some nights, her face at eight years old visits me again. That small, wounded look that asked what she had done wrong.

It eats at me, even now. I think about calling her, telling her I’m sorry for every cruel thing I said, for being a sister who didn’t protect her. Sometimes I imagine her forgiving me. Sometimes I imagine she won’t. But I’ve learned that apologies are more about freeing the child inside you who still flinches at what you’ve done.

I think, that is why October feels heavier. The air turns colder, the nights stretch longer, and everything quiets down just enough for the past to find you. There’s something about moonlight, it doesn’t accuse. It just illuminates.

When I was little, I once ran down the street completely naked because I heard the ice cream truck. My parents had left me in the bath for a minute, and I just… took off. My mother still tells that story and laughs until she cries. I think about it sometimes and wonder when I stopped being that unafraid, running after what I wanted, bubbles and all.

Other memories are softer, like the summer my friends and I spent hunting “pirate treasure” in random backyards. We drew maps, buried old soda cans, and swore we’d become legends. We never found gold, but that didn’t matter. We found something better, wonder. The kind of wonder that disappears slowly, like light fading from the window, until one day you realize you haven’t felt it in years.

And then there are regrets that sit somewhere in between the quiet ones. The times I judged people for choices I didn’t understand. The things I said with certainty, not realizing how much privilege hides behind certainty. I used to think life was about making the right choices. Now I know some people never get to choose at all.

The moonlight seems to pull all of these things out of me: the shame, the laughter, the half-forgotten guilt. It’s like the night knows which drawers to open. Sometimes I want to push them shut again, but sometimes I just let it happen. Let it visit.

Because these are the things that make me human: the naked child chasing the ice cream truck, the cruel sister who learned to say sorry too late, the friend who once believed treasure could be buried anywhere, the adult who finally understands how fragile other people’s lives can be.

I think the moon gives us these visits for a reason. To remind us that we are both the light and the shadow, that the things we did, the people we were, still live quietly inside us, waiting to be seen with gentleness.

More: https://peonymagazine.com/veil-of-the-moonlight/things-that-visit-us-night/