Sometimes I hate the night. Could it be the silence? The dead silence that stirs my thoughts? Or the darkness? The infinite black. The darkness, that only the sounds distinguish what is or what can be there. Or maybe it’s the emptiness. The empty bed. The empty room. The empty heart. And only at night, when it’s quiet and dark does this emptiness feel so lonely. Could that be why when night falls the lone and empty seek life after dark? Because of our emptiness inside, we cannot sleep. Sleepless nights, lonely days.