The air is thick. Heavy with the heat of the day. The night is dark and still. Holding the trials and tribulations of the day. The only sound to be heard is the whisper of the night. It holds untold futures on the tip of its tounge, The whispers of night will never relinquish their secrets. Nights reflect the thoughts and feelings that are so easily blinded by the sunlight. The minutes tick by. Each hour takes longer than the last. Clarity is easier to come by in the deepest of night. That clarity is like a magic mirror. It shows you who you are, it shows you who others are. Through the reflection that is night, you can't lie to yourself. You no longer the mirage that others see. The reflection of others is black and white there is no color to cloud your judgement. If you sit long enough you see things, hear things. A flash of the past here, a snapshot of the future there. The night is either your best friend or your worst enemy. It is not what you make of it. The night is what you take from it. In the past month I have embrassed the dark. It has been my solice, my only safe haven. My reflection is all I really am any more. Like a beditme story that holds the ghouls and goblins that keep you awake at night. In that haven linger my enemies; waiting, watching, patiently waiting for their turn. Tourment of the mind is their game. Each night I will myself to not fall prey to their game, but in the darkest of night I play. I challenge them again and again. I dont know if there is ever a winner, all I know is that they will be back again the next night.