The room is dark. The curtains are drawn in a vain attempt to filter the orange glow of the streetlights illuminating the street outside. I glance at the digital clock at the side of my bed, the numbers 0225 glowing in a bright green. I sigh wearily. Unable to sleep, I sit upright on my bed, my legs outstretched and covered with my warm duvet. Nights like these are usually quiet, but it isn’t today, because the pitter-patter of rain lingers in the background, like the heartbeat of a mother that cocoons the fetus in her womb. It brings an odd sense of protection and safety along with it. It makes me feel somewhat less alone. Sometimes the rain goes pit-a-pat against the glass of my windows, often sounding like the gentle tapping of someone against it. Intrigued, I push a little bit of the heavy curtains and peek outside. Droplets of water streak down the window panes as it rains on. Odd, fluid shapes spiked at even odder angles that leave trails whenever they move downwards definitely are captivating sights for an insomniac at this time of the day. Through the rain I can make out the street outside. Everything is the same, only grayer and blurred with softer edges. Puddles of rain form in the potholes of the street, temporary homes for little creatures outside.