There’s a danger in silence, a danger to loneliness, a danger in a midnight stroll. You may fall in love. There’s a charm to quiet contemplation which may steal your heart, if left unguarded, and the soul may become enamored of real, honest solitude; insomnia’s an insidious habit to those who once innocently wandered in the coiling fog of a moonlit 3:00 AM.
Us night owls long for the solace of a sleeping house; I think I can almost hear the dreams of my fellow inmates whispering to me as I write. Silence is a dangerous thing for the brokenhearted.
Tale Told 