in beatween
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
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 15th, 2026 05:10
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- In collections: 2026, reworked dead poets.
Offline)
Comments2
Words from an astute observer. Light, calm, gentle and fluid.
Beautiful piece, Arqios.
Thanks so much, Katie B🙏🏻🕊️
A wonderful portrait of the diner and its occupants. The style is so appropriate for the images here.I can hear the people chatting and "each one carrying a story you don't need to follow.Excellent piece comrade
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