the night knew my name

 Lately, nights have been the hardest part of my day.

Not because something happens, but because everything finally stops.

And when it does, my thoughts get loud.

Every night, I overthink.

I replay conversations, decisions, reactions.

I question whether I did the right thing,

whether I was too emotional,

or whether I should have tried harder.

There’s guilt I can’t seem to shake.

Guilt for choosing myself.

Guilt for leaving when things felt unbearable.

Even when I know I was hurting,

I still wonder if I could have handled it better.

I didn’t want to hurt anyone.

I didn’t want to be seen as selfish.

I just didn’t know how to stay without losing myself.

And that realization still hurts.

Some nights, the sadness comes quietly.

It’s not overwhelming, just heavy enough to sit in my chest.

I miss what was familiar.

I miss the version of myself that didn’t have to think this much.

I’m trying to remind myself that healing isn’t clean or linear.

That guilt doesn’t mean I was wrong.

That hurt doesn’t mean I failed.

The night knows my name because it sees all of this

the confusion, the regret, the softness I don’t show during the day.

I don’t have answers yet.

But I’m still here, writing, breathing, trying.

And for now, that has to be enough.