AlAnoud Writes

The night sits low,

unbothered, unhurried 

like someone who already knows

how the story ends.

A thin line of light

rests on your table,

pretending not to care

where you’re headed next.

You breathe, steady,

as if the world finally moved

at your pace

for once.

No searching,

no noise 

just the quiet understanding

that some seasons change

only when you decide they should.

And in that stillness,

everything soft you thought you’d lost

returns,

without asking for permission