By day, the city was quiet—almost too quiet, as if it held its breath. People moved through it with urgency, their faces etched with the weight of routine. But when the sun set, the city came alive in a way that couldn’t be explained. Streets glowed with the light of forgotten dreams, and the air hummed with the energy of untold stories. The city wasn’t just alive—it was dreaming, weaving a tapestry of visions that would never see the light of day.
Beneath the Weight of Stillness
The silence was not empty but dense, like fog made of forgotten thoughts. It clung to walls and windows, humming low like a memory too shy to speak. In that stillness, every sound became sacred — the creak of a chair, the breath between words. Nothing moved, yet everything pulsed quietly with meaning, waiting to be heard.
Buildings That Shifted With Thought
The city itself wasn’t made of stone and steel. It was made of memories, of ideas that floated between the streets, shaping the very buildings. At night, the city transformed—walls bent to the will of thoughts, bridges grew longer with every desire, and roads shifted like liquid. It wasn’t just a city—it was a manifestation of the collective dreams of its people, changing as they did, evolving with every wish they made.
Night is the time when cities don’t sleep—they only dream.
A Dreamscape Made Real
By dawn, the city would settle back into its quiet self. The buildings returned to their static forms, and the streets became just streets again. But for those who knew where to look, remnants of the dreamscape would remain, hidden in plain sight. The city never truly woke; it only closed its eyes for a while, until the next nightfall when it would dream again.
