To Night

Well, it's that time of the year again. Ya boy is up, starin out the window at the sky, feeling the night’s quiet magic. What is it that stirs my soul when the world falls still? Is it the air—cool and hushed, keeping watch over all the sweet secrets from the shadows? Is it the darkness itself—a cloak draped over the day’s noise, inviting the mind to wander? Or is it the silence, that rare and sacred pause, when the earth seems to hold its breath, and life slows down to a whisper?

Perhaps it’s the endlessness of it all—the sky unfurling like a tapestry of stars, each dot, each twinkle, a story, each constellation a thread in the vast weave of the cosmos. Night strips away the sun’s blinding presence, and suddenly there’s a glimpse of eternity, a window to the infinite that daylight keeps locked away. At night, when everyone’s asleep, it’s like time stops rushing. The stillness wraps around me, and I wonder. The streets are empty, the houses dark, and it’s just me and the night—small, so tiny, under the stars, but tied to their shine still. The dark moves slow, letting my thoughts grow wild and free, stealing moments I’d die to hold in the quiet.

It’s the calm that sinks in, like the world’s taking a deep breath. Night doesn’t hurry; it sits with me, steady, pulling out big questions. What’s out there? What’s inside me? I feel a spark of something big, something only the night can give.

Or maybe, I'm just sleep deprived?