This will make no sense to anyone but me, and me, just barely.

[rejectomorph]

Night slips by like a stealthy cat, prowling. The cat might catch some rodent unawares. This night has pounced on nothing. The air so still I can hear myself sweat. I could have turned on the fan, but I don't like the noise. I barely tolerate the whirring fans of the computer. I like the night to be as silent as the moon drifting by. Then, I can create my own world in my imagination. Should a twig snap, the world of my thoughts will shatter. I would say that this is my one real indulgence. I am willing to court madness, but only on my own terms. The madness offered by the world has no appeal for me. My advice to everyone: stick to your own delusions. No one elses will do.