I sit here underneath the glass pane that seperates me from the cool outside. Through the slits between the clouds, various stars can be seen. The moon huddled amongst them, shining down upon the paper in which I write. The nib of my pen kissing the page and flowing across its surface.
I sit upright in my bed, surrounded by warmth and silence., apart from the churchbell in the distance striking midnight. The cars weaving down the country lanes, carving whispy noises that roll toward me.
The street lights shining down with a golden orange. The wind blows branches infront of it causing shadows to dance upon the wall.

And I am here, enclosed in the warm and silent night

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