𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖊𝖙 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘
04:15 a.m.
window open.
cold air on my skin like a reminder that I’m still here.
the night doesn’t feel like night anymore. it feels like a pause button nobody pressed back on.
stars above me — quiet, distant, almost unreal. like they don’t belong to this world, or maybe I don’t.
some soft music in the background. I can’t tell if I’m hearing it or just imagining it.
everything is so still it almost hurts.
a light rain starts falling. not enough to change anything. just enough to feel.
I light a cigarette.
small flame in the dark. gone in a second.
the smoke is warm going in… burning. always burning.
I hold it anyway.
and breathe it out like I’m letting something go I never had words for.
next to me — a cold drink. untouched. forgotten.
time feels… fake out here. like it doesn’t apply to this version of me.
no yesterday. no tomorrow. just this.
just this breath. this sky. this silence pretending to be peace.
I look up again.
and I wonder if anyone else is awake right now
feeling like the world is too quiet to be real.
or if it’s just me. always just me.
maybe loneliness is just another kind of stillness.
or maybe I’m finally calm for the first time in a long time
and I just don’t know how to name it yet.
either way… I stay.
