Babe: 2:03… we seriously need to sleep this time.
Me: I know… but have you ever noticed how quiet the night feels when you're in it? Like even silence leans in to listen to you.
Babe: Ufff… why are you like this? You always say things that feel like they’re written by the moon itself.
Me: Maybe because every time I talk to you, it feels like I'm writing poetry on the sky.
*Babe: You’re dangerous at night. Your words wrap around my heart like a warm blanket.
Me: And you? You make even 2AM feel like home. A place where time stops and I’m just… safe.
*Babe: I swear, if I ever write a book, it’ll start with ‘Once upon a 2AM…’ and end with your name.
Me: And the dedication will say, “To the one who turned insomnia into intimacy.”
*Babe: I don’t even remember what we were talking about… but I remember how you made me feel.
Me: That’s all that matters — the warmth between the lines, not the lines themselves.
Babe: Stop it, I might just cry. How do you manage to be this poetic at 3:27 AM?
Me: I guess love is my muse… and you, my midnight masterpiece.
*Babe: Okay that’s it. I’m saving this chat. One day when we’re old, I’ll read it to you and say — look how madly I was in love with your madness.
Me: You still will be. Every night. Every 2AM. Forever.
And somewhere around 5:11 AM, we finally paused , not because we were done, but because love had said enough for the night.
