The INFJ Night Shift

It's always the same hour, not midnight, not 1:00, that hour that doesn't

feel like a time so much as a border crossing two something. The room is dark. The world is finally

done demanding things from you, and then your brain, your beautiful, exhausting brain

turns on like a stadium. Your phone glows in your palm, not because you

need it, because you're holding a tiny rectangle of light like it's a campfire in an

empty forest. There are unread messages you've been meaning to answer.

There's a draft you started and didn't send. There's that one conversation you

swear you're over until your mind brings it back with surround sound, and you're lying