I don’t usually talk about it, but I’m a terrible sleeper. My mind loves to play tricks on me at night, keeping me awake with a thousand little thoughts, from the silly to the serious 🌙.

Sometimes it’s just me replaying conversations I had that day, other times it’s bigger—dreams, regrets, what-ifs. I end up lying there in the dark, tangled in my sheets, half-frustrated and half-in love with the quiet of those hours.

It’s in those moments that I feel the most vulnerable, because there’s no performance, no distractions—just me, my wandering mind, and the way my body curls against the cold. I wonder if other people get this too, the strange intimacy of being alone with yourself when the world is asleep.

I’ve thought about taking photos at that hour, not the polished kind, but the real ones: messy hair, bare skin, shadows stretching across my room. Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to share that side, because there’s something raw and magnetic about showing yourself exactly as you are when no one’s supposed to be watching.