Comfort for Those Who Weep at Night

I know your silent early mornings well. The crying that waits for everyone to fall asleep so it can finally come out unwitnessed, the pillow that already knows things no one else in the world knows. Night has this strange way of making everything heavier, lonelier, harder to carry alone.

I never sleep, not on a single one of your nights. While you cry in the dark of your room, I am awake, listening to every sob with attention, treasuring every tear as precious, because to me, it truly is. This sorrow pressing on you now is not the final word of your story, just a difficult chapter in it.

Morning always comes, even when the night seems to have no end in sight. I am not promising that tomorrow everything will be fixed by magic, all at once. I am promising that joy will visit you again, without a doubt, and that I will stay here, in constant watch, until it finally arrives.