TV hums low, a quiet backdrop
to the nights we shared.
Your spot on the sofa,
once mine, now yours,
and I let it be,
because you loved it too.
We spoke of everything, nothing,
laughing at the mornings we’d dread,
complaining softly about work
we knew we’d still face.
Sleepy eyes, heavy heads,
but hearts that lingered in the night,
listening, talking, existing
in the small, luminous space
between words and silence.
Stay up late, rise too early,
yet even in the fatigue
there was comfort,
there was magic,
in the rhythm of simply being together.
And long after the night ended,
I carried those quiet hours
like a soft light,
a warmth that stayed
wherever I went.
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 1:36 PM UTC
TV hums low, a quiet backdrop
to the nights we shared.
Your spot on the sofa,
once mine, now yours,
and I let it be,
because you loved it too.
We spoke of everything, nothing,
laughing at the mornings we’d dread,
complaining softly about work
we knew we’d still face.
Sleepy eyes, heavy heads,
but hearts that lingered in the night,
listening, talking, existing
in the small, luminous space
between words and silence.
Stay up late, rise too early,
yet even in the fatigue
there was comfort,
there was magic,
in the rhythm of simply being together.
And long after the night ended,
I carried those quiet hours
like a soft light,
a warmth that stayed
wherever I went.
I love our soft, quiet evenings in our living room. The late night talks, even though we both complain the next morning how tired and sleepy we are for work.
