One of those nights when you pass a car parked on a bridge and a couple sits inside, kissing. On any other day you might call them old, but tonight no-one is, because it’s one of those nights.

One of those nights when you cycle home through the park even though you have no lights. A different night you might be scared of the darkness, of the noises in the woods and the shadows in the moonlight, but tonight you know that nothing will happen, because it’s one of those nights.

One of those nights when the skirt of your dress lifts up around you as you cycle. On any other night you would tuck it down, but tonight you’re touching your thigh and imagine it was someone else’s hand, because it’s one of those nights.

One of those nights when your hair sticks to your back and you don’t tie it up. When skin is salty, eyes hungry, when people are nothing but lips and hands and life is only what you can touch, because it’s one of those nights.

One of those nights when you meant to meet friends for a quick drink that turns into two, and three, and many, and you finally make it home and open another bottle of wine because you can sleep any other night, but not on one of those nights.

One of those nights that you cannot write about without falling back on cliché, but then, that’s why I love those nights.