Wee Hours

The wee hours of the night, my kith and my kin - my own reality separate. A time not free from my troubles, nor their reflection - a place of self crowded with thoughts, yet finally free from others, and others'. The hustle and bustle put to rest, there remains only quiet - music if so chosen, otherwise silence is welcomed. I can do with less sleep, but not without these times - not without feeling what needs be felt, writing what needs be written. The wee hours of the night, my rest and my reprieve - my own reality ever better for them.