Night is a moment in it's own

It's that perfect time of night, when the dogs snoring and the clocks ticking, and you tip toe down stairs in your sweat shirt, that you pulled on because the air frosted the windows and sent a chill down you're spine as you breathe fogged the window that looked out into an empty dim lit, glowing, pouring street. and yet you put nothing else on because the house is so still you don't fear anyone, or anything else. You're feet creek arcoss the floor as you grab a glass from the cabnet and take a moment to breathe as water trickles slowly from the filter. Somethings on the counter catches your eye and the filter shouts off adbruptly and the fridge hums to live as you pull your cup away. Cookies, chocolate chip, they are placed perfectly in a circle on the plate and they are warm and ready for the taking. And so you grab two because you know that no body will know (except the scale). You flick off the lights with your elbow for your arms are preoccupied and you race up the stairs through the dark of the night so that the demons and horrors of the shadows of night won't grab you. And as you click your door shut behind you, you collapse onto the bed, the rain has stopped now and the mist sets heavy over the pavement. The trees shadows seem larger in the dim lighting and as you devoure the cookies and gulp down the milk you wrap up in your comforter and pull your stuffed animal close. A used worn out animal, one with matted down fur and ripped seams. It's eyes are sad and have grow tired over the years, as have yours and you seem to look back at yourself in the reflection, but that's impossible because the lighting is not bright enough for your eyes to reflect in the beads mounted above it's crocked nose and tilted smile. You flick your light off and lay down, a passing cars head lighs illuminate the room for a moment so that God can see the tear as it falls from your cheek and so delicately rests in the palm of your hand that cups your face. You roll over to escape the world and pure, uninterupted silence encases you. And yet the darkness and despaire does not come, you wait and then tilt your head from the muffled cries and suficating pillow to see that the street light lights up the small, dark beads on your stuffed animals face. The eyes are looking off into the distance, out the window to somewhere far away, and yet the light is shinning on you.