When the world finally exhales and the clocks grow tired of counting, the night leans in closer. Your voice softens like a secret meant only for me, and the room holds its breath. Candlelight trembles across the curve of your smile, spilling gold across the silence between our words. We speak in half sentences, in glances, in the quiet language only the dark understands. Outside, the moon watches patiently, knowing what daylight never will that some hearts only dare to open after the world goes quiet.