Midnight Memories: Does Grief Have a Time Limit?
<p>I’m abruptly pulled from the clutches of uneasy dreams as I am entangled in a restless dance upon a sea of sheets. In the thick embrace of the sultry southern summer, the heat clings to my room like an insomniac ghost, its tendrils refusing to loosen their grip. The unruly symphony of a storm shatters the night’s stillness, each raindrop a percussionist pounding upon my moonlit window, demanding entrance to my restless world.</p>
<p><em>What time is it?</em></p>
<p>Groggily, my fingers navigate the dark expanse, seeking solace in the familiar contours of the phone beside my bed.</p>
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<p>Ah, 3 AM — an enigmatic realm where introspection thrives and emotions whirl like constellations. The hour of somber reflection, where the heart’s secret chambers creak open, and the echoes of reminiscence reverberate through the corridors of my mind.</p>
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<p>The clock’s digits, illuminated with a luminous intensity, fix their unwavering gaze upon me, almost as if they are sentient beings poring through the vast archives of my memory. In this insomniac interlude, it’s as if they are sifting through the pages of my recollections, seeking the very essence of what keeps me awake in the stillness of the night. As I stand at the crossroads of wakefulness and dreams, the clock’s relentless scrutiny seems to beckon me toward a journey down a labyrinthine corridor of bygone moments.</p>
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