On nights like this, I wonder how one could sleep. Doesn’t the silence bother you? ‘Cause it terrifies me:
On quiet nights like this, all you hear is a cogitation. A monologue is not meant for oneself.
On rainy nights like this, tissues piling up, scrambling thoughts, stuttering breathing, muffled by the constant, gentle downpour.
Finally, a deep slumber on nights like this.
