She was in love with the night. She always had been.

There was something about the stillness and silence of the world at 12 a.m. that rested so peacefully with her.

She found that she was the most productive during the nighttime without all of the active distractions that came with the day.

There was something hauntingly comforting about the thought that she was the only person left awake.

Everything about the night was just so appealing to her. She loved how the weather got cooler, and the sky grew darker. How the sun switched places with the moon so that it could rest up for the next day. How the sounds of birds chirping and squirrels rustling had disappeared because everyone had gone off to bed.

Some people couldn't stand silence. They found it too nerve-racking and awkward, but she never did. She liked those few hours of being alone. She made peace with her loneliness during the night.

And even when she finally lay her head to sleep, her love never went away. She would dream of new worlds and beings that would later spark into a plethora of ideas that fueled her creativity.

Even the nightmares were enjoyable because they were a natural element that came along with the night.

If she could have, she would have become the night. She was by nature an owl stuck in a girl's body. While she enjoyed the sunlight, if she could have, she would have frozen herself in the early hours of the morning.

To her, the night had more color than the day. She saw beauty in what others saw as dull. While the rest of the world's lives started when they woke up in the morning, hers began at night. She was by heart, a nyctophile.

Many would mistake her obsession for sadness or depression. But they just didn't understand. She took advantage of her insomnia.

She could never be afraid of the night, for she was too deeply in love.