2am Stories

Amara got the voicemail at 2:30AM. He didn't come home. Now she's learning that healing isn't something that happens to you. It's something you do. One shift. One bus ride. One empty coffee cup at a time. Healing is a verb. Even when it hurts.

Super cool solarballs crackfic I made!!! Enjoy ;3 (Please laugh, my humor is gone)

Thank you for showing me what love is

Most bias to least bias boy group.

In the year 2010, Heaven-sent went through a major trauma that caused her to acquire dissociative amnesia. With her memory getting erased everyday, she tries to recollect her past through her old journals. One day, she meets Chi Espina. The story unfolds from there on.

Some pieces aren't meant to be whole. They're meant to be held. Mal is a poet trying to rebuild a life she can't fully remember, one line at a time. After an accident left gaps in her memory , words are the only thing that still feels like hers. Lynx is an illustrator trying to outrun a life he can't forget, one sketch at a time. He draws at 2 am because silence is safer than talking. They meet in an ordinary diner that never closes . No names. No questions. Just coffee, a sketchbook and a notebook full of fragments. But when a drawing of her hands appears on his page...and a poem about him appears in her notebook , the silence between them starts to mean something. She writes to remember. He draws to forget. Healing doesn't mean perfect . It means the cracks are part of you now.

People think being quiet means you have nothing to say. But the truth is, some girls simply think too much. I've always been the kind of person who has principles in life - careful with words, careful with people, careful with the version of myself I show to the world. But no matter how composed I try to be, there are still nights when insecurities become louder than confidence. The mirror becomes cruel. Certain memories suddenly return without warning. And the pressure of becoming "better" slowly becomes exhausting. I'm not the prettiest girl. I'm not the most interesting person in the room either. I'm just an average girl trying to understand herself while growing up in a world that constantly makes girls question their worth. ------------- The Confessions of an Average Girl is a story filled with silent insecurities, random realizations, regrets, principles, and the thoughts people never hear out loud. Because sometimes, the quietest girls carry the loudest minds. _imtypicalwriTel

Just random stuff and emotions I come up with at 2 AM

Her

Late night stories

this was never home.

A short story about a girl finding peace of mind on the edge of a sidewalk. cover shot by @castlesystems on instagram

Any Taylor Swift fan knows the appeal of 2AM as some obscure, yet romantic, haunting, and magical time. Most of these poems were likely written by me at 2AM, like how I am creating this right now. Some of these poems will be funny, some will be sad. Some will be about helplessly falling in love, some will be about worriedly falling out of it. Some will be about how I'm scared to use the microwave in the middle of the night, some will be about how my candles flicker in a way that makes me want to leave them on all night, even if it's "bad for them." I'm a huge fan of the book Every Last Word by Tamara Ireland Stone, so inspired the philosophy of those poets, I will be including where I wrote every poem as the location is part of the poem too. Welcome to my makeshift Poet's Corner, feel free to read the walls. <3

We all have some thoughts that we dont share with even our closest ones. This work is a collection of such thoughts in form of diary entries where you will find the dreams, experiences, emotions and thoughts of any random person. Hope you like it. Co authors are welcome.

just some weird a$$ shit i think up at 2am

i wrote most of these when i when around 13/14, but i've decided to continue this collection. i hope y'all enjoy :)

imagines for when it's 2am and you're in your feels &lt;3.

yup, my random thoughts late at night (my prime time) when im nocturnal

we danced and we danced until the soles of shoes wore down to the flesh.