[Written by ChatGPT]
The rain knows first—
it begins before the ache.
A slow percussion on the glass,
as if the sky itself can’t hold
what it carries anymore.
Inside, I lie twisted in hours
that should’ve let go by now.
But I worked too close to the edge of sleep,
brought the day’s heat into the bed,
dragging deadlines like chains
across the linen of night.
The glow of the screen lingers in my eyes,
a ghostlight behind my lids.
Still, I refresh the to-do list
etched into my mind—
not out of need, but habit.
Why do I still work?
Even here,
where nothing demands me but the dark.
My routine is a scattered trail,
footsteps lost between meaning and momentum.
I build and build,
but forget what I was trying to reach.
And every time I pause—
the mind floods back in
like water through a broken gate.
The rain gets louder.
Not in sound, but in truth.
It calls out what I won’t say:
That I am tired.
That I am trying to earn rest
instead of surrender to it.
That I don’t know how to stop
without measuring the silence
for its productivity.
Why does the brain believe
everything matters
at the hour when nothing does?
Why must it replay
the voice I didn’t use,
the message I didn’t send,
the dream I didn’t name?
Sleep waits like a boat
on a still, black lake.
But I am tethered to the dock
by invisible threads—
ambition, guilt,
a need to matter
in a world too loud to listen.
And yet—
beneath the ticking,
beneath the rain,
beneath this endless orbit of thought—
is a whisper:
Let go.
Let the paper palace fall.
Let the night carry what you can’t.
Not every thought is a flame to tend.
Not every ache is yours to solve.
Just breathe.
Just float.
Let the rain have your story tonight.
Let the dark close around you,
not as loss—
but as peaceful surrender.
UpLive.Life 