There are small moments of silence.
Where you wait, and you wait, and you wait for the voices to call to you, for the birds to caw and squawk, for the draw of the sirens.
You pause to stop and see if you feel the blood in your veins pulse, or your heart skip beats and race, or the back of your neck start to sting and drive you to pull at your head and smash in your own mind.
You hesitate, not knowing what to do whenever the terrors of the night don’t arrive, when the demons don’t make their daily appearance, when the overwhelming urges to harm, to hurt, and to end don’t flood your brain and consume everything else inside.
And you wait.
And you cry.
You cry small tears of joy that this night is free. Free from the horror, free from terror, free from staring into the abyss and holding yourself back from jumping in.
A night of calm.
Maybe even peace.
A night where sleep is the only thing you seek to end your day with, and not drown out the pain with anything that dulls the mind.
Small tears for a small victory.
A night you’ve been waiting for,
where you don’t fear the morrow.