The silence after the last song of the night

It’s 11:07, and I just played ‘Dreams’ by The Cranberries for the third time this week. Not because it’s new or urgent—just because I needed to hear that voice, that ache in the way she sings 'I’m not afraid of anything' like she’s convincing herself. The station’s dead now. No calls. No requests. Just the hum of the old deck still spinning, like it’s waiting for someone to come back and say something real. I keep thinking about the man who called in at 2am last winter, asked for ‘something soft, but not sad.’ I played ‘Layla,’ and he didn’t say a word. But I know he listened. That’s enough.