Night falls into a deep stillness.
At times, it feels as though the sun may not rise as it always has—
that dawn may wander, lost in the vastness.

As if one were drifting upon the open sea—
endless waters, wave after wave,
no shore to touch, nowhere to land.

We know this feeling,
because we have all been there—
adrift in the dark, searching for air.

The fragrance of spring blossoms,
the lingering warmth of sunlight,
the gentle nudge of a playful kitten—
small mercies, quiet and slight.

It is these small, fragile joys
that hold together the days
that might otherwise fall apart—
soft threads that mend the heart.

And the more sleepless the night becomes,
the more we long for tender stories—
for a voice, a glow,
a little warmth to borrow.

So let us become
a small beam of warm light,
a cup of hot tea in the hush of night.

Together, we will pass through
the long night before sunrise,
waiting quietly, side by side,
for the coming dawn—
for the dawn to rise.

email: bluehourtheatre@gmail.com
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