There’s a moment each night when I don’t need the overhead lights anymore.
When the day is done, but sleep hasn’t arrived.
The room dims into soft shadows.

And I reach for the lamp.

It’s a small act.
Flip a switch.
Let warmth pour out of a bulb
just bright enough to keep the dark away.

It doesn’t light up the whole space.
Just a corner.
Just enough to say,
“You’re not alone.”

I sit in that glow like it’s a shelter.
Phone face-down.
TV off.
Just me and the soft hum of quiet.

I think about the things I didn’t say today.
The texts I didn’t answer.
The thoughts I didn’t have time to think.

They visit me here —
gently, like they know I’m finally listening.

Sometimes I pick up a book.
Sometimes I just stare.
Other times, I scroll slowly,
checking updates or scores on 안전한카지노,
not because I’m betting,
but because it’s a familiar rhythm.

That small flicker of the screen beside the lamp.
Two kinds of light.
Two kinds of presence.

This is my version of meditation.
The opposite of noise,
but not quite silence.

I breathe deeper in this light.
Not because of what it shows me,
but because of what it allows me to feel.

Safe.
Soft.
Still.

Before bed, I sometimes glance through 카지노사이트 —
not seeking thrill,
just something simple to close the night with.

Like a quiet game.
A final score.
A sign that the world is still turning,
but I can stop now.

The light stays on a little longer.
Not because I’m afraid of the dark —
but because I’ve grown to love
this kind of ending.