Somethings are better to leave unexplored

I don't know. I guess I just like to tiptoe in the dark, when the sky is so close to being black and sleep has taken its victims. My house becomes so silent that it almost hurts, but I ignore it. I just wait until the silence leaves and the creaks and squeaks of the world pass through my thin windowpanes like the sand at a beach slipping between the cracks of my hand. I curl up into my bed and close my eyes, with my arms wrapped tight around my bare legs. I listen for the sound of passing automobiles, and then I don't feel so alone. My ears strain to hear the whoosh of those cars on the highway at night, with people sitting in the driver's seat, maybe in silence, maybe with a book on tape silently playing in their radio. Or maybe some beautiful song fills the empty air and the driver has an aching heart or goosebumps or butterflies in their stomach because this drive is leading them to a long lost lover or a sick father. They'll reach their destination and sigh into the night while I am still lying on my bed in the thick silence that consumes the confines of my minuscule haven and existence. The pain of the driver's heart reaches mine and my eyes fall into dreamland and I see them walking up a path to a red door that is really the only barrier standing between them and the rest of their life.