At three in the morning, the world stopped.
The streets were asleep, the lights flickered, and thoughts screamed.
It wasn’t insomnia — it was a meeting.
A moment when the most lost hearts found each other in the same silence.
Time, that absent-minded old man, forgot to move.
And I, somewhere between longing and the future, wrote.
Because at three a.m., everything feels more honest.
Even lies whisper the truth.
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