The Nights You Don’t Talk About

There are nights you don’t talk about—

The ones where sleep feels like betrayal.

When silence screams in forgotten tones,

And your own breath sounds like a stranger’s.

You lay there, still but burning,

Like a forest right before it breaks.

The weight of memories pressing your ribs,

As if they’re trying to escape through bone.

You scroll, you sigh, you overthink,

You time-travel through old wounds

—some fresh in disguise.

You write unsent messages with your mind,

Rehearse confrontations no one will hear.

The pillow absorbs what the world missed.

These aren’t nights you post about.

There are no quotes for this ache.

No playlist fits quite right.

Even God feels farther than usual.

But somehow,

you survive them.

With cracked lips and red eyes,

you rise again.

Maybe a little colder.

Maybe a little stronger.

Always quieter.

No one claps.

No one notices.

But still, you do it.

Again. And again.

That’s what resilience looks like.

Not loud. Not proud.

Just real.

Just you—

getting through nights

you don’t talk about.