Dear Reader,

There are some nights that feel impossibly long.

Nights when the silence around you doesn’t bring peace—but instead, echoes back every fear, every question, every ache you thought you’d buried deep enough. You can be surrounded by people—at work, in your family, in passing conversations—and still feel like no one sees you. Not really. Not fully. I know, because I’ve lived that kind of loneliness.

These are small stories—random narratives—imagination. They weren’t meant for an audience. They were for me. A soft way to end the night. A whisper of comfort when everything else felt cold. They became a ritual—something to reach for when my heart was too loud and my body too tired to fight for rest.

If you’ve ever felt like you’re drowning in a room full of people, or like your thoughts are too heavy for sleep, or like you’re holding everything together while falling apart quietly—I see you.

Here’s to soft landings at the end of hard days.
Here’s to being alone, but not invisible.
Here’s to you, wherever you are.

With tenderness and grace,
Charolin Pryce