Sleep had eloped with all of my dreams, and I have become a dreamless insomniac. Often I'd find myself alone with the night. We'd remain quiet for hours. At times, I get bold enough to confront it in silence, while at others, I'm way too discouraged, and I hide amidst piles of work in more silence. It's beautiful, my relationship with the night, and it's simple, unlike everything else going on in my life.
With tunes of a beautiful cello and piano to my ears, I close my eyes in the arms of the night, and we dance. It takes me away, hiding me far from the chaos of the morning bustle, from my fears, and my responsibilities. I love it, and how it grants me much attention. There's only me amidst the night, only I am wrapped tightly in its black cloak, only I am held so closely with tender love and affection like no other, yet again in overwhelming silence.
I paint all sorts of colors and hope into a future that remains unknown yet seems exhausting, as my eyes remain closed. The night watches as I do so with a peaceful grin, nodding at how young I can be. Then, I'd let out sighs of relief and gratitude knowing with certainty that the night listens with patience to all of my unspoken misery. To me, it's just magical having the night all for myself stealthily like a mistress. There's just a tasty spice to it, something beyond my capability to understand, something my feelings though constantly demand, a silently perfect lover.