"The air is softer now. The music is somewhere behind you, fading into the distance. Streetlights hum. A door closes. Footsteps echo briefly before disappearing into the night. You pause for a moment, searching your bag. The familiar shape of something small in your hand. A cap. A key. Lipstick...

The details that travelled with you through the evening. The night isn’t over. Not really. It lingers in the warmth on your skin, in the faint scent of perfume and city air, in the quiet electricity that hasn’t quite settled yet. Moments replay themselves without permission. A glance. A laugh. The brush of someone’s hand against yours. You realise the objects you carry are never just things. They become part of the memory. Evidence that something happened. That you felt... something.

Some nights leave a mark. And sometimes, you want them to.