June 3rd
I have found that whereas I seek comfort from the bleak loneliness of the night, I instead desire solitude in the dawn. As I write this, it is 4:38am, and the house is silent - aside from the heavy breathing of those in the neighbouring room. The sky is shedding its dark enrapture and brightening to a pale but luminescent blue, and there is a soft falling of rain giving the air a damp, replenished smell.
The birds have begun to sing; I have perched myself on the doorstep of the drive to listen, and there is a chilling breeze that numbs my bones but awakens my mind.
I thought of much last night - too much that sleep had once again been rendered impossible. I’m beginning to think I am driving myself mad. But I won’t go into that now.
The sky has clouded over - Sunday morning is here. Some say it’s darkest before the dawn, but I think the dawn itself withholds something sinister; an imbalance, an unnerving uncertainty of whether or not the day will come, and what tribulations or triumphs it will bring.
