Somewhere after midnight,
    before the world wakes back up—
    there's a little pocket of time
    where our words lose their armor.

It’s here,
    in the Ghost Hours
    that our voices soften,
    secrets slipping into the air
    like they're safe to finally breathe,

    long-held truths offered quietly without apology or fear.

We trade confessions like tokens,
    small whispers
    that feel huge in the stillness,
    like breaths held a beat too long,
    sentences that sit heavy in our hands,

    each one passed carefully from one screen to another.

5AM sneaks by, unnoticed—
     daylight peeking in,
                hesitant,
     afraid to break the spell,
     respectful of our space…

     giving us one last moment to hold on to something
     that feels realer than any conversation we’ve had in daylight.

These ghost hours—
     they're ours.

A gentle haunt,
  pulling truths from beneath layers we thought we needed,
  unearthing pieces of ourselves we’d forgotten we’d hidden,
  'til we find ourselves lighter,
                          closer,
  maybe just a little less alone.

The sun rises,
    and we say goodbye
    without letting go,
    holding tight to words
    that linger like smoke…

    words that won’t vanish in the morning light.