The clock ticked past midnight, but sleep refused to visit.
I lay in the quiet darkness, listening to the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the restless echo of my own thoughts.
The world outside seemed wrapped in stillness… no footsteps, no voices… only the distant murmur of the night.
I turned from side to side, chasing comfort that kept slipping away.
Every little sound became louder: the creak of the floor, the sigh of the wind, the soft thump of my heartbeat.
Memories floated in like uninvited guests, half forgotten conversations, old laughter, and questions with no easy answers.
The night felt endless, like a book with too many unread pages.
I tried counting breaths, tried imagining peaceful places, but my mind wandered to dreams I hadn’t yet dared to chase and worries I hadn’t yet learned to quiet.
Somewhere near dawn, when the first grey light began to stretch across the room, I realized that sleeplessness had its own strange beauty.
It gave me time to listen to my heart, to trace the map of my hopes, to feel the quiet weight of being alive.
By the time morning birds began to sing, I was still awake but calmer, as if the night had spoken in whispers only I was meant to hear.
I lay in the quiet darkness, listening to the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the restless echo of my own thoughts.
The world outside seemed wrapped in stillness… no footsteps, no voices… only the distant murmur of the night.
I turned from side to side, chasing comfort that kept slipping away.
Every little sound became louder: the creak of the floor, the sigh of the wind, the soft thump of my heartbeat.
Memories floated in like uninvited guests, half forgotten conversations, old laughter, and questions with no easy answers.
The night felt endless, like a book with too many unread pages.
I tried counting breaths, tried imagining peaceful places, but my mind wandered to dreams I hadn’t yet dared to chase and worries I hadn’t yet learned to quiet.
Somewhere near dawn, when the first grey light began to stretch across the room, I realized that sleeplessness had its own strange beauty.
It gave me time to listen to my heart, to trace the map of my hopes, to feel the quiet weight of being alive.
By the time morning birds began to sing, I was still awake but calmer, as if the night had spoken in whispers only I was meant to hear.
