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"Midnight Conversations with My Past"

Juliette

Juliette

Wellknown Ace
The clock strikes twelve, the world turns still,
And silence speaks louder than it ever will.
I lay in the dark, but I’m not alone —
My past arrives, soft-voiced and known.

It pulls up a chair, makes itself home,
Wearing old fears like a well-worn cologne.
"Remember that time?" it whispers low,
Unfolding regrets I tried not to show.

We talk of love that didn’t stay,
Of words I lost and should’ve let say.
Of people who vanished without goodbye,
And the version of me I had to let die.

It doesn’t shout, it never blames,
Just calls me gently by old names.
And in its eyes, I sometimes see
A version of who I used to be.

By morning it fades, like smoke in air,
But I feel its weight still sitting there.
Midnight leaves, but not without trace—
It etched my past back into place.

ca55f675-3bdd-435a-9b49-c3bd96e47861.jpeg
 
This felt like a quiet conversation with the soul. Beautifully written..,
Juliette said:
The clock strikes twelve, the world turns still,
And silence speaks louder than it ever will.
I lay in the dark, but I’m not alone —
My past arrives, soft-voiced and known.

It pulls up a chair, makes itself home,
Wearing old fears like a well-worn cologne.
"Remember that time?" it whispers low,
Unfolding regrets I tried not to show.

We talk of love that didn’t stay,
Of words I lost and should’ve let say.
Of people who vanished without goodbye,
And the version of me I had to let die.

It doesn’t shout, it never blames,
Just calls me gently by old names.
And in its eyes, I sometimes see
A version of who I used to be.

By morning it fades, like smoke in air,
But I feel its weight still sitting there.
Midnight leaves, but not without trace—
It etched my past back into place.

View attachment 355046
Click to expand...
 
Juliette said:
The clock strikes twelve, the world turns still,
And silence speaks louder than it ever will.
I lay in the dark, but I’m not alone —
My past arrives, soft-voiced and known.

It pulls up a chair, makes itself home,
Wearing old fears like a well-worn cologne.
"Remember that time?" it whispers low,
Unfolding regrets I tried not to show.

We talk of love that didn’t stay,
Of words I lost and should’ve let say.
Of people who vanished without goodbye,
And the version of me I had to let die.

It doesn’t shout, it never blames,
Just calls me gently by old names.
And in its eyes, I sometimes see
A version of who I used to be.

By morning it fades, like smoke in air,
But I feel its weight still sitting there.
Midnight leaves, but not without trace—
It etched my past back into place.

View attachment 355046
Click to expand...
Nice:Laugh1:
 
Juliette said:
The clock strikes twelve, the world turns still,
And silence speaks louder than it ever will.
I lay in the dark, but I’m not alone —
My past arrives, soft-voiced and known.

It pulls up a chair, makes itself home,
Wearing old fears like a well-worn cologne.
"Remember that time?" it whispers low,
Unfolding regrets I tried not to show.

We talk of love that didn’t stay,
Of words I lost and should’ve let say.
Of people who vanished without goodbye,
And the version of me I had to let die.

It doesn’t shout, it never blames,
Just calls me gently by old names.
And in its eyes, I sometimes see
A version of who I used to be.

By morning it fades, like smoke in air,
But I feel its weight still sitting there.
Midnight leaves, but not without trace—
It etched my past back into place.

View attachment 355046
Click to expand...
She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together....
 
Juliette said:
The clock strikes twelve, the world turns still,
And silence speaks louder than it ever will.
I lay in the dark, but I’m not alone —
My past arrives, soft-voiced and known.

It pulls up a chair, makes itself home,
Wearing old fears like a well-worn cologne.
"Remember that time?" it whispers low,
Unfolding regrets I tried not to show.

We talk of love that didn’t stay,
Of words I lost and should’ve let say.
Of people who vanished without goodbye,
And the version of me I had to let die.

It doesn’t shout, it never blames,
Just calls me gently by old names.
And in its eyes, I sometimes see
A version of who I used to be.

By morning it fades, like smoke in air,
But I feel its weight still sitting there.
Midnight leaves, but not without trace—
It etched my past back into place.

View attachment 355046
Click to expand...
Poignantly beautiful poetry!
Awesome Intelligence™​
 
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