Where the Night Keeps Her Name

More about Where the Night Keeps Her Name

She sits where firelight softens the dark,
knees drawn close like a secret kept warm,
listening to winter tap gently
on the glass of another world.

Beyond the window, a city glows
as if remembering itself,
golden towers trembling in water,
lights learning how to ache.

Steam rises from her cup
like a thought she didn’t finish,
curling upward, then vanishing,
some feelings know when to leave.

The night leans in, patient, blue,
holding her reflection just long enough
for longing to recognize its face
before drifting back into silence.

And she stays,
not waiting, not leaving,
simply breathing with the moment
where memory and now
touch hands
and let go.