EVERY HOOFPRINT

It’s 2:19 a.m., and the world is quiet—the kind of quiet that makes you hear everything. In that silence, I start thinking about the person I am when no one’s watching. Not the version people see, but the one who exists without pretending. The one who feels everything, questions everything, and just… is. Maybe that’s who we really are—the quiet version we meet in the dark when the noise fades. And for now, that feels like enough.

It all began on September 9 at 8 p.m., when I discovered what I thought was a leak in my bathroom ceiling. Standing in a puddle with wet socks, I looked up—only to meet the beady gaze of a squirrel peering through the air vent and politely introducing itself by peeing on my freshly cleaned floor.

Throughout human history, people have always been curious about stories involving ghosts, spirits and the supernatural. Cultures around the world have their own version of these tales and stories of the unseen that linger between life and death. A ghost is often described as the soul of a person who died but can’t move on for some reason. Sometimes they appear like shadows or figures, other times they are heard through noises, whispers or footsteps.

It’s 1:38 a.m., and outside my window the wind sways softly, making the trees sound like they’re whispering. In the dim glow of the screen, my mind drifts past this house and this world, reaching for the edges of reality where the multiverse might begin.

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It’s 2:11 a.m. and I’m lying awake, thinking about the Goldilocks Zone. The narrow space where life can exist. Earth sits perfectly in that balance. Too close to the sun and we’d burn, too far and we’d freeze. Maybe our lives have Goldilocks Zones too. Moments where things line up just right. Not forced, not delayed. Just… right.