The Wee Hours
It’s dark. The only light, the fluorescent glow of the screen. Like a campfire, it cannot reach past where I sit. The sun has yet to rise and greet the dawn. All things seemed veiled in shades of grey. I huddle around the light seeking its warmth. Nothing seems to pull at me to be anywhere else. I am stuck in a world no bigger than my desk.
The quiet roars back at me. Even the birds have yet to decide to wake. Their songs absent from the dark that cloaks the outside world. The only sound is the faint tapping of keys, as my fingers search for the rhythm that produces form. At this hour, nary a sound disturbs the silence to provide a clue of the things beyond my tiny refuge.
It is cold. The chill of night seeping through shutter and door to tease a shiver from me. My comfortable, but flimsy, sleepwear cannot stave off the draft. Outside, and unseen, vapor condenses to dew on everything. It seems right that the darkness and cold are walking hand in hand. They always do in this retreat.
The only scent, wafting in the air, is the aroma of the hot coffee keeping me company at this ungodly hour. The steam, rising from its surface, paints abstract forms before it disappears. The smell helping to erase the cobwebs of sleep from my mind. Its warmth my only push back against the cold. It is a welcome friend to this small place
My mouth is stale from hours of sleep. The coffee is little relief and hangs like a bad curtain on my palette. But I need the effect. Each taste bud sending a signal to the rest of my body to return to its duty station.
It is where I hide, when the hour is early and the day yet begun. This tiny universe, lacking the warmth and light of the sun, the sounds of life, and all manner of inspiring things, is where I go to place words to my thoughts. I write feverishly. Struggling through a clouded mind in a body that would rather be in bed.
Till the dawn comes and I leave my sanctuary to partake in the world and things I have struggled till now to express. I seek to gain the experiences and feelings that living has to offer. I need to become a part of the world outside again. I will need something to write about, when again my world becomes small, dark, quiet, and cold.
commonsensiblyspeaking 
Brilliantly relateable!