In the quiet hours between dusk and dawn, when the world sleeps and silence reigns, I lie awake—mind racing, heart heavy. Day and night I toss and turn, caught in a loop of unspoken worries and unresolved thoughts.
The daylight offers no reprieve; its brightness only casts longer shadows over my unrest. Each hour blends into the next, marked not by time but by the rhythm of my own unease. Sleep becomes a distant shore I can see but never reach.
Yet in this restlessness, there is honesty. In the stillness, I confront what I avoid in motion. Perhaps peace isn't found in perfect slumber, but in learning to sit with the turning tide within.