When Nightfall Comes

When Nightfall Comes

When nightfall comes,

I don’t fight it anymore.

I let the edges soften,

let the day loosen its grip

on everything it asked of me.

The light has done what it could.

What remains is mine to carry—

or finally set down.

Night doesn’t demand explanations.

It doesn’t ask me to be strong,

or brave, or anything other than honest.

It arrives without judgment and covers what couldn’t be fixed.

There are thoughts that only speak after dark.

Memories that wait until the world is quiet

before reminding me where I’ve been.

I listen now.

Not to relive them—

but to acknowledge they survived me.

When nightfall comes,

I take inventory without punishment.

What I gave. What I held back.

What I couldn’t save.

I forgive myself in small increments.

Enough to rest.Enough to remain.

The dark isn’t empty—

it’s full of pause.

Full of breath.

Full of the space between what was

and what might still be.

Some days end without resolution.

No answers.

No closure.

Only the understanding

that continuing was the work.

So I let the night keep watch for a while.

Let it stand where I stood all day.

Let it hold the unanswered questions

until morning is strong enough to take them back.

When nightfall comes,

I don’t disappear. I settle.

I close my eyes knowing this:

nothing I am becoming

requires me to be awake

every moment of the way.

The night will pass.

It always does.

And somewhere beyond it—

the morning sun has already begun.