The night won’t last forever: My reflection of the other night's crash

It’s 11:48 PM (GMT+1), about the same time I literally cried 48 hours ago.

The charts still glow faintly on my screen; red candles, shorter now than they were twenty-four hours ago, but still red. The market is quiet, yet the silence feels heavy, like the calm after a storm that has left debris everywhere. Yesterday was brutal. The crypto market bled so sharply it felt almost personal. I sat there watching the numbers fall like dominoes, watching the portfolio I had built with patience and hope shrink in real-time.

For hours, I refreshed the screen, hoping for a miracle bounce. But the candles kept dripping downward, each one a reminder that volatility is not just a statistic; it is an emotion. Fear. Doubt. Regret. I felt them all. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth red candles, I leaned back, exhaled deeply, and stared into the dark corners of my room.

That is when it came, not a loud voice, but a quiet assurance deep in my heart: “The night won’t last forever.”

It was a whisper strong enough to interrupt my spiral of worry. I paused and let the words settle. The night won’t last forever, truly, it never does. Markets rise, markets fall, but time always moves forward. And with it, opportunities are reborn.

Tonight, as I write this letter to myself, to the investor who still dares to believe, I’m reminded that every crash carries a hidden lesson. For me, the key lessons are patience and perspective. There is a need for the ability to keep faith when the charts look hopeless. Because if history has taught anything, it is that recovery does not announce itself; it just begins quietly, candle by candle, the same way the dawn creeps up on a dark horizon.

I think of the builders; I mean, those who still code through the chaos, still innovate while traders panic. I think of the projects that will outlive this night, and the new ones that will rise from its ashes. I think of how the last bear market forged conviction in those who refused to quit. Perhaps this is another such moment for a purification of hype, and a reset for the sincere.

I won’t lie; fear still lingers. But there is also a resolution now. I have come to agree that this space has never rewarded the faint-hearted. I remind myself that this market, like life itself, is cyclical. Seasons shift. Winter gives way to spring. Losses give birth to lessons.

So I’ll hold on, not recklessly, but wisely. I will study, reflect, and reposition where necessary. I will remember that every successful investor once sat in a similar night, staring at the same red candles, wondering if the light would ever return. And it did. It always does.

So here I am, forty-eight hours after the bleed, with my screen still glowing in the dimness of night, not as a symbol of despair, but of endurance. The candles will turn green again. The market will heal. And when it does, I will remember this night - for good. Even in the deepest red, hope still flickers.

Because truly, the night won’t last forever.