Comfort, in the Quiet Hours
Jessica Edmond
There are evenings when the world settles,
when the last light folds itself into the windowpane
and the house grows still enough
to hear the soft rise and fall of your own breathing.
In that hush, I sometimes find you again.
Not in the way of longing,
but in the way warm hands remember the shape of another’s,
even years later.
The way a room, once shared,
keeps a faint echo of laughter tucked into its corners.
Solitude is not always empty.
Sometimes it fills itself with small treasures:
the slow curl of steam from a cup,
the weight of a blanket pulled to your chin,
the memory of a summer afternoon
when the sun sat low and golden
and we did nothing but talk
as if the day itself had nowhere else to be.
I sit with moments like that
the way one sits beside a fire,
letting the warmth find every cold place
without rushing it along.
There is comfort in remembering
that joy once lived here freely,
that it will return in its own unhurried time.
I have learned that solace does not always arrive with company.
Sometimes it comes in the quiet,
in the soft discipline of listening inward,
in the grace of allowing yourself to rest.
It is a gentle thing, this kind of peace,
a slow unfolding.
But on nights when the air is sharp
and the world feels too wide,
I close my eyes and think of the people
who stitched themselves into my life
with kindness,
with shared meals,
with jokes that still find their way to me
when the room is dim
and my heart needs something familiar to lean on.
And I am reminded
that even solitude can be warm
when held beside memory.
That comfort can be a presence,
and presence can be a kind of love
that continues long after the moment has passed.
So I wrap myself in the quiet,
sip something warm,
and let the night settle around me like a soft shawl.
Not lonely.
Not forgotten.
Simply resting in the gentle truth
that the heart remembers warmth
long after winter has come.
Jessica Edmond
Jessica Edmond is a writer whose work blends memory, culture, and personal narrative. She is drawn to stories that examine how people make meaning from history, place, and intimate moments of change. Her writing often explores resilience, identity, and the quiet forces that shape a life. Jessica’s voice is reflective and precise, grounded in lived experience and a deep interest in how stories move us toward connection and understanding.