When the Streetlights Stayed Off Too Early

The schoolyard bench still holds the same graffiti—

though the paint's faded like an old bruise,

peeling under the weight of gray, thick clouds.

The hallway's cracked linoleum reflects

an afternoon that's lost its shine,

light stuttering through dusty windows.

The empty parking lot smells of oil and rain,

quiet enough to hear my own footsteps echo.

Streetlights haven't flipped on yet,

leaving shadows long and uninvited

as if the night decided to sleep in early,

leaving me behind to wonder

how silence can grow so loud

when no one’s around to hear it.