Fragments of a Midnight

The page feels heavier at night, as if each word wants to sink into the paper. Writing here feels like opening a door into a darker corridor of my own thoughts.

The candle flickers, shadows crawl across the walls, and I can’t help but imagine voices hiding just outside the reach of the flame. Maybe it’s only me. Maybe it’s something else.

Still, the notebook keeps its silence. It accepts the weight of ink without judgment, and in return, it carries these words where I cannot.