When I was younger, I was terrified of the dark. Unknown nefarious creatures with sharp claws and sharper teeth would be just out of view, waiting for some body part to be exposed - just waiting, in the black darkness, for chance to grab my leg or arm. I used to take refuge in the warmth of the blanket - its magic would protect me, as long as all my limbs were covered. At times, I would even sink my head in and roll myself around, giggling at the imagined monsters who vented their fury at their futility to reach me inside the barrier of cotton and thread. Silly now that I think about it. Now that I'm grown up, I am no longer afraid of the dark. It may be the familiarities of the surroundings - the same places that we travel to and fro, performing our mundane tasks. The choirs of adulthood. There is nothing scary anymore about the blackness of night. Some may say that I've matured. I rather believe that it's my lack of imagination. I don't dream much anymore - or if I do, I don't remember them. The few that I do remember are bitter and saccharine. I feel worse for having remembered them. What was I writing about? Oh yes. Darkness. There is a comfort in darkness now. A black barrier between me and the rest of the world. I wish it could be dark all the time now.