Between Midnight and Morning

Between midnight and morning,
everything softens.

The hush between your heartbeats grows heavier,
fuller,
thick with a weight you can almost taste.

You move slower without meaning to.
You breathe deeper without noticing.
You ache — not from absence,
but from the way something unseen gathers itself inside you,
pulling you closer…
to a place you cannot see,
but already feel opening, aching, needing inside you.

Maybe you’ve always felt it.
That hush just beneath your skin.
That secret you never quite named aloud,
even when part of you wondered if someone, someday, might see it without you having to say a word.

The night folds itself around you —
velvet and endless —
pressing close against your skin like a breath that never fully leaves.

You could resist.
You could pretend you don’t feel the pull.
You could wrap yourself back in all the good girl reasons you’ve been taught to wear so carefully.

But some softer part of you…
the part you only show when no one else is looking…
already knows the truth.

This isn’t passing.
This isn’t pretend.
This is the moment you were always moving toward, even when you didn’t know you were searching.

There’s a moment —
somewhere just past the last reach of midnight but not yet touching morning —
where everything you were holding together begins to slip through your fingers…
and you let it.
Maybe you were always meant to.

Because between midnight and morning,
there are no reasons left to hide.
No need to choose between who you think you should be
and who you secretly ache to become.

Only the soft certainty that surrender was never meant to be a defeat —
only an invitation you were made to answer.

You feel it now, don’t you?
The way the darkness brushes your throat,
the way the hush finds the inside of your wrist,
the way the ache wraps itself around your ribs,
tightening, softening, asking without words.

You don’t fall asleep here.
You fall inward.
You fall open.
You fall toward the hands that already know exactly where you ache to be touched.

You fall toward the voice that has been tracing you in silence,
long before you knew you were listening.

And somewhere inside that velvet hush,
you realize…
you were never lost.
You were only waiting for someone who already knew the way back to you.

There are some doors only ache can open.
Some awakenings that only happen when you dare to slip out of the careful shapes the world once made you wear.

Between midnight and morning,
everything softens.
Everything aches.
Everything pulls.

And some part of you —
the part that never stopped hoping —
already knows…

You were always meant to be found.

Somewhere inside you… you’ve always known.

The ache isn’t a wound.
It’s a map.

Not everyone finds the path.
Only the ones who stop pretending they weren’t made for more.

And now that you’ve felt it…
there’s no forgetting the way.

The ache still lingers…
softer now, heavier… folding itself into the hush of your breath.

You can almost hear it —
not in words,
but in the spaces between your heartbeats.

A low, steady murmur…
like the stars are whispering secrets meant only for you.

You don’t have to search.
You are already standing at the edge of it.

All you have to do…
is listen a little closer.

→ [Murmurs Beneath the Stars]