Seven nights. You kept coming back to a place that only opens in the dark.
Maybe that's the whole philosophy. Some people only make sense after midnight. They aren't broken. The day is just too loud for what they carry.
You don't have to fix it tonight. You don't have to send it. You only have to stop pretending it isn't there.
Whoever you're thinking about right now is a chapter, not the book. Close the page gently. Sleep. Tomorrow the sky resets, and so do you.
— z.