Move through the darkness as swift as its currents, swirling and spiraling, upward and down, catching glimpses that flicker like flashes of light of the noise and the madness as you pass it by. In the darkness it's safer. No one can see. The raging explosions of life that overflow and spill out of the light are muted, subdued, and drained in the night. It's quiet. You can think in the dark. No one screams in your mind, and your mind won't scream back. The darkness in patient. It breathes. It takes a slow step. If you embrace it you can see more. Your eyes and your mind adjust. People take off their mask at night. The lovers of light will flit around on beams of headlights and streetlamps, fabricated day, on their way to dimly lit bars, fabricated night. Some people don't like the real thing. It can't be controlled like the fabricated. It wasn't designed. It isn't planned. It just is. It doesn't care who wins or loses. It doesn't even care how you play the game, because there is no game. There's only the dark, and there's comfort in that.