Midnight Reflections

In the blurred lines of consciousness, whispers of what could have been flicker like dying embers. This moment, the turning point of all forgotten faces, brings an unrelenting ache.

Days bleed into nights, and with every tick of the clock, memories shimmer just out of reach, refracted through the prism of regret. What was ever real? Questions tumble like papers in the wind.

Is loneliness a fog that edges the heart, or merely a shining star teasing from a distance, always falling tantalizingly short? It sits there, observing, sketching our tangled lives with an unseen hand.

Sometimes, I find truth within the silence—the kind that thrums between two breaths. It is an echo of laughter, a filled void, like when one holds a hand that was never meant to slip away.