The Weight of 2AM
It always hit hardest when the world went quiet.
When the texts stopped,
the TV turned off, and even the wind outside forgot to move.
2AM wasn't just a time.
It was a memory~ on repeat.
A ghost that never learned how to rest.
Id lie there pretending the ceiling could hold me together, but it never could.
I broke most often in the dark-where no one could hear me except maybe Jehovah.
The bed felt too wide, my chest, too tight.
And my thoughts...too loud.
I replayed our lost words like a song I didn't know how to stop humming.
I begged for sleep.
For silence.
For anything but the truth: that you were gone, and this was real.
Some nights, I held my pillow like it was you.
Other nights, I held myself.
And even that didn't feel like enough.
But I survived.
Every 2AM that tried to swallow me whole.
Every silent scream.
Every tear that didn't feel like enough to ask for permission to fall.
And maybe that's bravest thing I've done so far.
