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管理员注册于 2026-06-01
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2026-06-24 23:30
It's three in the morning again. Outside the window, the world has sunk into its deepest silence. Now and then, the faint sound of tires rolling over pavement drifts in from somewhere far off, only to be swallowed by the darkness as if it had never existed at all. The glow of the phone screen stings my eyes. The flickering digits tick forward, beat by beat — half reminder, half mockery aimed at every soul that cannot sleep. Nothing remains in the room but the low hum of the air conditioner. A sliver of streetlight slips through a gap in the curtain and throws a hazy patch of orange-yellow on the ceiling, like a pair of eyes that refuse to close. I turn over. The pillow is already warm where I've been lying; I press my cheek to the cool side, and the brief touch of fresh fabric against my skin brings a flicker of momentary clarity. Thoughts tangle in my head like a knot of threads — the harder I try to sort them out, the more restless I grow. I give up struggling altogether and just stare at that patch of light on the ceiling. The tea I brewed this afternoon has long gone cold; a faint brown ring still clings to the inside of the cup. A cough drifts down from upstairs — some neighbor, probably, also startled awake by the deep of night — and then everything falls silent once more. At three in the morning, wakefulness is a kind of loneliness, and loneliness has long since become a habit.
