4 a.m.

Photo Credit: Marky at favim.com


It’s four in the morning now.

Are you sleeping?
Your arms pulled tight
against your chest,
your knees curled high?
Are dreams strolling
through your mind,
begging you to remember tomorrow
so that you might
see my face in your waking too?

Is the air cool on your skin
and the blankets
cutting through the chill,
or does the southern heat
stick to you,
make your rest uneasy?

Do you miss me when you wake
and realize you’re still alone?

It’s 4 am
and you’re asleep
while I write this
and wonder
about your dreams
and who you meet
when you get there,
or if you sometimes awaken,
my voice echoing
through phantom rooms,
and look at the clock
wondering
if I, too,
can hear your voice
in my own dreams.

***

My dear friend and I were talking about that special hour where things are not quite night or day, when possibility seems ambiguous and pain is at its height. I wrote this at 1 a.m. but it was 4 a.m. in the east.

~ Patience 


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