In the quiet hours, just before the clock ticks onto a new day, shadows stretch their limbs. The street lamp whispers softly to the moon, and stars nod in familiarity. Here, amidst the soft twilight, we find solace in things left unsaid.
A faint melody escapes from the nearby café, accompanied by the scratch of pen on paper— a list of tomorrow's to-dos. The lines flow like a gentle stream, inky thoughts twisting into the rhythm of night.
Sometimes, the world feels like an unwritten book. Each day, a new page, scribbled with notes and margins filled with echoes of laughter or the sigh of deadlines. And yet, in the silence, the stories breathe.