At two in the morning it seems to me that time has stopped. The sound of the refrigerator is like music. The slight creak of the parquet is a signal that I'm still here, still alone, still not sleeping.

I don't hang out. I don't sit at parties. My night mode is not about freedom and pleasure. It's about anxiety. About the endless "what if". About the fact that the body is tired, and the brain is still doing a roll call of all the regrets of the day.

When the whole house is asleep, I open my laptop and turn on an untitled document. I don't know what I'm writing. Just - line after line. Sometimes these are thoughts, sometimes to-do lists that I still won't do. Sometimes confessions that I won't say.

Have you ever written someone a letter that you'll never send?

Peace doesn't come from sleep, it comes from feeling understood. Even if no one reads it. Even if you're just lying there and can't stop thinking. Sometimes I only fall asleep when I feel my neighbors breathing through the wall. When I know I'm not alone, everyone's just silent.

Maybe one day I'll wake up before noon. And I'll realize that the night is no longer a place to hide.