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Can't sleep.

It's been raining, and it's quiet, and the pooling light reminds me of why I love the night so much. It's only when light is fractured, discrete and intense like this that you really appreciate how truly special it is. There's the cracked, diffuse glow of LEDs off the electronics, the ebb and brightness from the headlights of passing cars, the steady warm pooling under the door from the incandescent bulb in the hallway.

The darkness is snug around you, too. I imagine this is how it might be deep, deep in the ocean, where the sunlight barely penetrates and the only light is cast by the bioluminescent fishes, like gems cast thoughtlessly across a jeweler's velvet cloth.

I suppose it's a cliche -- all goth girls, we should love the night. It's in the by-laws somewhere. But for its sanctity, I love it. For the cold, perfect ache of starlight to the aurora of a streetlamp reflected in an oil slick puddle, for all the light that darkness contains, this is why I love the night.