The city sleeps

The city sleeps—

with love,

with sex,

with bodies

warming each other

under a tired, spinning fan.

And me?

I’m walking through the leftovers of the day.

The moon is out here

peeling off its old skin,

letting its light fall

on worn-out footsteps,

on tired roads

finally lying down to rest.

The wind slides through my ribs,

whispers—

"keep your eyes open,

don’t disappear tonight."

Every apartment window

stares back at me like a witness:

"Are you okay?"

And I do what I always do—

I turn my face to the moon.

And she answers.

Not with words…

but with a smell—

the smell of old skin

living inside a new body.

Clothes sway on the clothesline,

like ghosts rehearsing old dances,

their shadows remembering

every life they ever touched.

And I stand there,

in the half-asleep city,

wondering

if I’m becoming one of them—

a shadow

with too many memories

and no body left to hold them.