AlAnoud Writes

After work.

After school.

After a night that tasted of friends and noise,

or a day that ached quietly inside the chest.

I wait at a red light.

The city breathes in sleep 

a low hum under the wheels,

a whisper from the street lamps.

The moon changes her face 

sometimes whole,

sometimes broken,

sometimes gone.

Yet the light falls the same on my hands,

on the steering wheel,

on the road that forgets every name.

There is no music now,

only the soft click of time.

The heart slows, the air forgives.

And through it all 

the laughter, the silence, the ache 

one presence remains:

a love too quiet to be seen,

too vast to be touched,

yet close enough

to breathe beside me

at the red light.