It
is
hard
not
to
feel
as
if
I'm
out
of
sync
with
the
majority
of
society.
Here
it
is
seven
in
the
evening
and
my
day
is
just
beginning.
For
most,
seven
at
night
is
when
things
wind
down.
We
are
indeed
some
sort
of
rarity.
We
are
referred
to
as
the
night
owls.
Although
that
isn't
precisely
what
I
believe.
Our
days
start
when
yours
do.
At
8:30
this
morning
I
was
already
up
preparing
for
work.
I
actually
enjoy
getting
up
early
as
I
feel
sluggish
and
lazy
when
I
wake
any
later
than
ten.
But
at
the
same
time,
I
crave
the
night.
There
is
something
special
about
the
night.
Alluring
and
interesting.
It
is
dangerous
yet
also
calming
as
there
is
nothing
harsh
about
the
moon
as
opposed
to
that
garish
sun.
The
night
is
also
quiet.
This
is
a
time
of
peace.
I've
been
called
emo
or
gothic
for
my
fascination
with
the
night.
But
I
find
that
I
do
not
care.
For
the
feeling
that
the
night
brings
is
something
few
seem
to
experience
in
the
truest
and
most
correct
way.
The
poetry
of
time
happens
when
the
sun
falls.
And
I
do
love
a
good
poem.
