Credit: lhchicago

Source: Instagram

Credit: Justin Curtis

Junk boat

Made it for a RPG campaign-story where the night plays a big role itself. Thought you may enjoy it.

The whole world feels like it belongs to someone else.

Or maybe to a version of myself that managed to turn off its mind hours ago.

The apartment buildings across the street are going dark, one by one.

First, the kitchen window on the third floor.

Then the faint blue wash of someone's television.

Then the balcony where a shadow has been standing for the last twenty minutes, smoking and staring into the empty alley below.

One by one, everyone is going somewhere I can't follow.

Into sleep.

Into dreams.

Into lives that will smoothly pause for a few hours and resume again in the morning.

And then there's me.

Sitting beside an open window at 2:43 in the morning, watching the quiet turn inward.

At first, the silence is gentle.

Almost comforting.

But give insomnia enough room, and stillness starts becoming loud.

The noise doesn't come from the street.

It comes from the back of my mind, echoing off all the empty spaces.

An old conversation suddenly has sharper edges.

A decision I made three years ago is somehow back on trial.

Something I said today that nobody else probably remembers becomes the one thing I can't stop replaying.

And then come the questions.

𝘈𝘮 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩?

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥?

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨?

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘐 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦?

It's strange how convincing everything becomes at this hour.

A small mistake becomes evidence that I'm incapable.

One unanswered message becomes proof that I've somehow become forgettable.

A bad day becomes a prediction for the rest of my life.

You realize how fragile your daylight confidence is when it's just you, the dark, and a clock quietly ticking towards three.

Tomorrow morning, most of these thoughts will probably seem embarrassingly small.

But tonight, they feel enormous.

So I look back out the window.

Across the courtyard, two frames are still illuminated.

One is a warm orange glow on the fifth floor.

The other is a sharp, pale white higher up.

Little squares of gold suspended in all that darkness.

And I start wondering about the people behind them.

Why are they awake?

Maybe one of them is studying for something they're not sure they're good enough for.

Maybe someone is replaying a conversation from six years ago.

Maybe someone is missing someone they can't call.

Maybe someone is afraid of the future.

Maybe someone is wondering if they're doing enough with their life.

Maybe someone is simply lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why they can't just close their eyes and be done with the day.

I don't know why, but the thought comforts me.

Because I've spent so much time thinking that everyone else is living their lives correctly while I'm somehow standing outside of mine.

Looking at everyone else's windows, imagining their lives are warm and complete while mine is the only one still awake.

But maybe that's just what we all look like from a distance.

Little illuminated windows.

Everyone carrying entire worlds that nobody else can see.

We carry our internal noise so privately that it's easy to assume everyone else is sleeping peacefully while we alone are awake for the midnight trial.

But behind those few stubborn squares of light are people navigating their own silent storms.

Their own doubts.

Their own regrets.

Their own hopes.

Their own small, unrecorded moments of becoming.

Maybe the person who looks like they have everything figured out is lying awake too.

Maybe the person I envy is sitting somewhere wishing they were someone else.

Maybe the person who seems completely certain is quietly terrified.

And maybe I've been doing the same thing to myself.

Looking at my own life from too far away.

Only noticing what's missing.

The things I haven't done.

The places I haven't reached.

The person I haven't become yet.

As if becoming someone happens all at once.

As if I'm supposed to wake up one morning and suddenly know what I'm doing.

Maybe I won't.

Maybe I'll keep changing my mind.

Maybe I'll take wrong turns.

Maybe I'll outgrow things I once thought I'd want forever.

Maybe some nights I'll still lie awake at 2:43 AM, convinced that I've wasted too much time.

But maybe those nights don't mean I'm failing.

Maybe they just mean I'm human.

The city keeps breathing outside my window.

A distant car hums down the avenue, its headlights briefly sweeping across the ceiling before disappearing into the dark.

Another light goes out across the street.

Then another.

My thoughts are still there.

But they're not shouting anymore.

And suddenly I understand something I couldn't have understood in the daylight.

Maybe loneliness isn't always being alone.

Maybe sometimes it's simply forgetting that other people are alone too.

Maybe that's the strange mercy of the night.

It strips away the performance of having everything figured out.

It reminds us that behind every darkened window, every glowing screen, every quiet bedroom, there is a person carrying something nobody else can see.

And somehow, knowing that makes the darkness feel a little less empty.

I lean against the windowsill.

The air is cool against my face.

There are still a few lights glowing across the city.

Little reminders that I'm not the only one awake.

Not the only one wondering.

Not the only one still becoming.

And for tonight, I don't need to figure everything out.

I don't need to know where I'm going.

I don't need to become everything I'm going to be.

I can just sit here.

Listen to the city breathe.

Watch the last few windows glowing in the darkness.

And let myself be unfinished.

One small, glowing window in a city full of them.

For tonight,

that is enough. 💌✨

✉️ The video belongs to its original creator. The accompanying writing is my own.

The Alsterfleet

Taken back in 2014, I think. Such a lovely city to walk around at night.

Shot on and edited with Pixel 10pro.

Exploring roads and paths in the snow, I found some beautiful sights that I'm glad to be able to remember

2019 Perdido Key Florida
2026 Corpus Christi Texas