It's night again. I always come at night. The sun feels too loud. It stings. But the moon… the moon understands me. So I come when everything is quiet, when shadows stretch long and the world forgets to breathe.

I tap on your window. Just soft little taps, like memories knocking. Tap... tap... tap... I wait. I always wait.

“Are you going to let me in? Hello? … Hello?”

The curtain shifts, and I see you. I smile, just a little. You open the window, and I slip through, quiet as mist. You don’t ask how I reach the second floor anymore. You’ve stopped trying to explain it.

I hover, just above the floor. I don’t have to. I know that. But I like it better this way. It feels… gentler. I don't want to leave traces behind.