Story of 3 AM
Waking up randomly, checking time, wondering what woke me up, wondering if I’ll fall asleep again. I like the quietness of 3 AM.
Turning sides from left to right, right to left, flipping the pillow to sleep on the other side, something seems missing. I wish I could talk to you right now.
Light breeze through the window, drizzling outside, the world is quiet and smells of petrichor and everything looks normal. Everything looks untouched by anything viscous. Everything looks like love.
Back on the bed, staring at the rain outside, thinking what would I say to you if you were awake. Probably asking why are you awake, secretly happy that you are. Hoping you are secretly happy too.
Wanting your arms around me, to hold me at this hour of the night, to whisper like the rain outside, to be with me tonight. Why am I awake, if this is not real.
Crafting poetry in my head, line after line effortlessly. I like this version of myself, being able to think so clearly, writing from the heart. Only if you could listen to me right now, only if you could read what I wrote for you.