Nocturnal,
I’ve always lived in the dark—
not because I chose it,
but because the light
never chose me back.
I learned early
how to make a home
out of quiet,
how to fold myself
into corners
no one else could see.
The night understands things
people don’t—
how a chest can ache
without breaking,
how silence can scream
louder than any voice.
In the dark,
I don’t have to pretend
I’m whole.
I can unravel
thread by thread,
and no one asks me
to stitch it back together.
There’s a kind of honesty here—
sharp,
unforgiving,
but real.
Because in the light
I was always too much,
or never enough—
but in the dark
I just am.
Nocturnal,
with tired eyes
and a heart that learned
to beat softly
so it wouldn’t be heard
when it broke.
And maybe that’s the truth of it—
I didn’t find the dark.
It found me
when nothing else did,
and stayed
when nothing else would.
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 11:26 PM UTC
Nocturnal,
I’ve always lived in the dark—
not because I chose it,
but because the light
never chose me back.
I learned early
how to make a home
out of quiet,
how to fold myself
into corners
no one else could see.
The night understands things
people don’t—
how a chest can ache
without breaking,
how silence can scream
louder than any voice.
In the dark,
I don’t have to pretend
I’m whole.
I can unravel
thread by thread,
and no one asks me
to stitch it back together.
There’s a kind of honesty here—
sharp,
unforgiving,
but real.
Because in the light
I was always too much,
or never enough—
but in the dark
I just am.
Nocturnal,
with tired eyes
and a heart that learned
to beat softly
so it wouldn’t be heard
when it broke.
And maybe that’s the truth of it—
I didn’t find the dark.
It found me
when nothing else did,
and stayed
when nothing else would.
