🧎‍♀️‍➡️💭Empty thoughts

It is a quiet night. The kind where the world seemed to hold its breath. The shadows in the room stretched long, soft, and still, and the moonlight painted silver stripes on the floor. She sat by the window, knees to her chest, wrapped in a blanket that felt more like memory than warmth. The night outside looked endless, and inside her, it felt the same. A hollow kind of silence echoed in her chest, the kind that doesn’t come from outside noise but from something deeper. Loneliness, maybe. Or something older than that. No tears fell, not yet. It was the kind of sadness that had already cried itself out. Now it just sat there, quiet and heavy, like a fog that wouldn’t lift. She whispered into the dark, not expecting an answer:

“Why does the night make everything feel deeper?”

The stars blinked in silence. The world didn’t answer, but maybe it didn’t need to. Sometimes, just sitting with your sadness in the quiet of the night is all the comfort you get. And for now, maybe that was enough.