4 In the Morning

At 3am you become your own philosopher, categorizing the different genres of humans and wondering if you fall even remotely close to anyone on the spectrum. You debate with yourself the meaning of life, again, and then regret everything you accomplished the previous day. 5am, that’s the breaking point. The sun climbs out of bed, and chases away the comforting lure of night and all dreams of slumber. The damned birds start peeping and you curse and sigh, watching the room change colours until you must get up to join the others. But 4am, it’s the gaping time of day that even the insomniacs deny. As if night took a deep breath and forgot to exhale, the silence is quieter, the darkness more pure. You hide under covers and stare into emptiness trying to make something of black space but your mind remains impossibly blank.