The clock keeps blinking 3AM, as if mocking me with its persistence. The room is heavy with silence, the kind that presses on your chest and makes your thoughts louder. Outside, the world is wrapped in shadows, but in my mind, the light flickers wildly. I should be asleep, but instead, I’m here—

…smoking
thinking…
feeling.

Smoke swirls in the air, carrying pieces of my prayers, my hopes, my fears. I wonder if the universe is listening, or if I’m just speaking into the void.

He creeps in, like he always does, soft and steady. I can’t tell if he’s a comfort or a ghost, but his presence stirs something in me.

…And then there’s this question—where am I headed next? I don’t know if I’m running toward something or away from it. There are so many paths, so many versions of me waiting in timelines I could jump into. Each one feels like a gamble, a story I’ve yet to write but can already feel in my bones.

The craft is my anchor, my ritual, my magic. It holds the answer, I think… My art, my words, my vision—they’re the seeds. I need only nurture them, trust them to grow.

Money isn’t just paper; it’s energy, and I have the power to call it to me, to shape it, to let it pool and ripple, moving effortlessly through the currents of my creation.

My thoughts spill over, unfiltered, a messy stream of consciousness that only 3AM seems to understand. The stillness is both a curse and a gift. It strips me bare, forces me to face myself, to ask the hard questions, and sometimes, to just exist in the not-knowing.

Here, in the sacred quiet, I’m everything and nothing. A dreamer. A creatHER. A soul navigating the in-between. And maybe that’s enough. For now, at least.

And I’m still caught between the cosmos and my own orbit...

…smoking
thinking…
feeling.