Silent Nights.

I love the night,

too much.

So much it feels like a sign,

like darkness keeps calling my name

and I keep answering

without knowing why.

*

I stay awake.

Wait awake.

Wide-eyed longer than I should,

like patience is practice,

like stillness is something

I’m being trained into.

*

Daytime demands.

Deadlines.

Noise dressed up as purpose.

But night?

Night loosens the grip.

Night doesn’t rush me.

*

Maybe it’s God.

Not shouting.

Not shaking the ground.

Just pulling me back

by the hem of my thoughts,

saying: come sit beside me.

*

Retreat from the hustle.

From the holy-looking exhaustion.

From the running

that pretends to be faith.

*

I don’t know

if this is a calling

or a form of sadness.

*

But it is calm.

Calm enough to hear myself think.

Thoughts drift..

not crash..

not crowd..

they flow.

*

Like an evening river.

Smooth.

Carrying questions downstream,

leaving answers on the shore

for morning to find.

*

So I stay.

I write.

I listen.

I dance.

I pray.

I do

all the

things I

couldn’t during

the day.

*

Because some prayers

aren’t spoken at sunrise,

they’re lived

in silent nights.