In the middle of Winter.

I went to bed with the lights flickering. The fireplace toyed with the room, creating wonderful life the walls around me. It was beautiful. I didn't want it to stop. But I was tired and even skylights of orange and gold lowers one's eyelids at some point. The pen becomes heavy, the writing unreadable.* And when you drift off.
Night time changes many things.

* I wrote this on paper to begin with. With a pen. With blue ink.