I'm tired, yet something inside me won't allow me rest just yet. My fingers tap-tap on the keyboard of their own volition, haunted and frantic, my eyes scanning to find their meaning and rhythm.

There's a chill in the apartment and, despite being in a long sleeved button-up and a sweater, I find myself still needing the warmth of a fleece blanket. Although I'm naturally cold, I feel a specific wintery shiver even with the thermostat humming to keep the temperature at 75.

This is a silence and a noise, a feeling and a mindset that is not unfamiliar to me. Writing, creating, needing space and time and a muse before rest will come... it's an old friend that contends me as much as she exhausts me.

She's the friend I put off calling for months, only to find life so much more beautiful with her in it. The friend who, even though you may not talk often, still knows you like the back of her hand. Those friends, unlike some that inhabit my day-to-day life, are always loyal and always welcome.

She's sated for the evening, warm and fat on creative milk, and I believe she'll allow me sleep. I'm going to take that opportunity before the window closes...