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Short reflections1 min read
Notes From a Sleepless Tuesday
These hours are not empty. They are simply unfurnished.

3:12 a.m. The fridge hums in a key I almost recognise. The city outside is a slow exhale of headlights.
I have stopped fighting the sleeplessness. These hours are not empty; they are simply unfurnished. Nobody needs anything from me here. The phone is quiet, the world is paused, and every thought arrives without its costume.
Tonight's thought: maybe peace is not the absence of noise, but the moment you stop arguing with it.
Serene Corpse


