After midnight the diner keeps its steady hum,
a few tables scattered with travellers
tracing their own routes through the quiet.
A server wipes down the counter in slow arcs,
steam rising from a cup left cooling near the register,
the door’s small bell giving a soft ring
each time someone steps in from the road.
You sit near the window,
watching headlights drift along the highway,
each one carrying a story you don’t need to follow
to feel the weight of its passing.
Nothing grand unfolds,
yet the hour feels tuned
to a kind of low-grade wonder,
the sort that settles in
when the world thins out
each departure a muted exhale
a small vacancy that neon can\'t steady
each arrival pushing the night
just that further along
.