Night

I've begun to dread the onset of nighttime, the surrender of the light to the long, long hours of dark and endless boredom.

There will be time enough for that further down the road, oh, please, much further down the road. Not yet. Not now.

Solitude's a lonely cell to lock oneself into, even when one has the key to spring the lock. There comes a time when the prisoner, left alone with the door to his cell wide open, will sit as ordered and not move, not leave, not run away to reach the light of morning, but sit and sit and sit the hours away.

Nighttime is a lonesome place, as dark and empty as a time-stopped, moonless midnight.