Just you, your pulse, and the unbearable grace of stillness.
Night doesn’t comfort.
It witnesses.
And in being seen so gently, so completely-
You break. Quietly.
Finally.

But they just shimmer, cold and eternal, like they’ve seen every sorrow and learned not to flinch. The moon doesn’t weep. It watches, and that makes it worse and somehow in this silence- you feel more than you do in daylight, not because you’re awake, but because the world isn’t. Don’t you think??

There’s a sorrow in that, a kind of hush that tastes like memory, like an echo of a voice that you’ll never forget. There is calmness, yes. But, it’s not peace. It’s the kind of stillness that follows collapse. You look up, hoping the stars might say something.

Who?? Mine?? 👀