moonlight
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Lucifer becomes the quiet guardian of unfinished poems, walking through the dark as though it were simply another room.
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Nightly joy arrives in the small things that survive the dark—quiet rooms, warm bodies, and moments no one else sees.
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She went looking for somewhere to put her grief and found the moon, the forest, an abandoned house, and eventually herself.
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At three in the morning, a candle, black coffee, and forgotten women’s names turn the witching hour into a cathedral.
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The witching hour belongs less to monsters than to women who learned to carry their own light through every shadow.
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Midnight has witnessed the ink, cold coffee, motherhood, ghosts, and every unfinished version of her that found a voice after dark.
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At three in the morning, the world goes quiet enough for old houses, moonlight, and sleepless women to remember each other’s names.
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A candle burns impossibly still while an old house seems to remember every life that ever passed through its walls.
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At twilight, candlelight and cannabis turn an abandoned ivy-covered house into a place where smoke, grief, and old walls share the same air.
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Beneath the moon beside a house reclaimed by forest, a small flame and glowing ember make the night feel older than it should.
Between Bruises & Blooms 