Write to me as a time of day

I am nine in the evening, no place to be.

Bare feet in bed, after dinner resting time, fill in the ________, time.

The question at the end of the day, the one that asks what will you do now, with this sacred space?

If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like us to be alone, please. I need a heavy silence for a while. Because if I am nine in the evening, the day was long and the world was loud.

Please, let’s be quiet for a while.

I am the life between work and sleep. I am a choice. What fills me?

Work, play, your creative life. The third drink on a Friday, the lines that start to blur. I am the moment between all you think matters — all you try to pass through. I am your last stop before tomorrow.

So please, let’s be still for a while.

Fill me, slowly, with all the things that make up a life. Make art by candlelight and wonder at the flame. Wake up the child who sleeps all day, who hides underneath the covers of all that needs to be done.

Daytime is full of answers — it’s time to ask questions, now.

Make me beautiful, let me hold important things. Turn down the noise, the static in the screen. Grow in the silence.

I am only one hour and I do not ask much. Only that you tread lightly, speak softly, move quietly. The day is buzzing, loud, and bright, but I am a warm glow.

So please, put the kettle on and light the match. Write me poems, play me a song no one else has heard.

Take what you need, leave the rest with me.

And tomorrow, will I see you again?