The 10 p.m. version of me is quiet.
He doesn’t chase ideas.
He doesn’t fix problems.
He’s done explaining, convincing, performing.
He’s just tired. And that’s okay.
He sits in silence, staring at the ceiling or the city lights outside the window.
Dinner reheated.
Notifications muted.
The world can wait.
This version of me doesn’t care about being productive.
He just wants a moment to exist without purpose.
He doesn’t think about deadlines or deliverables.
He wonders if the day meant something.
And sometimes, the honest answer is, not really.
Because some days aren’t about winning.
They’re about surviving.
The work deadlines.
The term papers for grad school.
The bills to pay.
The hobby you parked.
The date you promised to keep.
The exercise you owed your body but did not have the energy for.
And that’s fine too.
Not every day has to be extraordinary.
Some days are just about making it through traffic, through meetings, through yourself.
And if you made it to 10 p.m.,
still breathing, still trying, still here,
that counts.
The quiet version of you is not a weaker one.
He is the proof
that you showed up
even when no one was watching.