La nuit en moi

I didn’t scream.
I didn’t cry.
I just stopped breathing the same way.

This isn’t about her.
This is what happens when silence moves in and doesn’t leave.
When night stops being something outside the window
and starts pressing against the inside of your chest.

I didn’t paint memory.

I painted what it felt like to wake up the next day

There are nights that fall outside.
And there are nights that bloom inside you.

Not sleep.
Not sadness.
Something older. Heavier. Hungrier.

You don’t talk about this night.
You carry it.
You feed it.
You make love with it in secret.
It doesn’t scream.
It hums.
It learns your name from the inside out.

They say night begins when the sun falls.
But that’s a lie.

Night begins when you let go of control.
When the masks collapse, when the spine bends, when the body stops pretending.

La Nuit en Moi is the moment the animal takes over.
It’s not sadness.
It’s not grief.
It’s the raw, unfiltered current that hides beneath manners and daylight.

Every line here is a wound.
Every shadow is a secret you thought you buried.
Every smear is the part of you you swore you’d never show.

This painting doesn’t represent night.
It is night.
A storm folded into flesh.
A mirror of the violence and tenderness that keeps you alive.

Everyone has a night they carry inside.
Not the one outside the window, but the one that lives under the skin.

It comes when the world is finally quiet.
When you’ve smiled too much, held too much, swallowed too much.
And suddenly there’s nothing left to distract you from yourself.

That’s when it arrives.
The weight. The silence. The questions you’ve buried for years.
The people you’ve lost.
The words you should have said.
The moments that will never come back.

You don’t show it.
You still laugh, you still nod, you still move through daylight.
But deep down, you know: the night never left you.
It waits. It presses against your ribs.
It reminds you that you are fragile, that you are alive, that you are breakable in ways no one else sees.

This painting is not mine anymore.
It belongs to anyone who has ever closed the door, collapsed against the wall, and finally let the tears fall with no one watching.

La Nuit en Moi is the truth we all carry:
that every one of us has a private night inside,
and some nights… it wins.