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5h • General discussion
11:37 PM
The house is breathing slowly,
walls holding their secrets
like old men hold photographs carefully
and with shaking hands.
The clock doesn’t tick tonight,
it presses.
Each second lands heavy,
a thumb on the chest,
a quiet reminder
that time never asks permission
to keep moving.
A lamp hums in the corner,
casting soft gold
over unfinished thoughts.
A cup gone cold.
A message unsent.
A life paused mid-sentence,
waiting for courage
to remember its name.
This is the hour
when truth slips its shoes off
and walks barefoot through memory.
No noise.
No crowd.
Just you
and the echo
of everything you almost said.
11:37 PM
is not dramatic.
No thunder.
No violins.
Just the sound
This is when masks loosen.
When the mirror
stops being polite.
When the past leans forward
like an old friend
and asks,
“Are you finally ready
to be honest with me?”
You sit there
between what was
and what could be,
a thin wire of now
stretching tight
beneath your feet.
And somewhere deep inside,
beneath the bruises
and the borrowed strength,
a small voice stirs
not loud,
not brave,
just stubborn enough
to whisper:
You don’t have to stay
where you broke.
11:37 PM
is where decisions are born quietly.
No witnesses.
No applause.
Just a flicker
behind the ribs
that says
maybe tomorrow
can be different
if you let it.
So you sit.
You breathe.
You don’t run.
Not this time.
Because some nights
don’t need saving
they need remembering.
And 11:37 PM
will never make the news,
but it will
live forever
in the place
where your life
finally turned
toward the light.
By Jason Strickland
3
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11:37 PM
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