3am is much more poetic when you're not there.

   It's an enchanting time of day with a unique draw that fascinates so many. If you looked in the notebooks of every writer that spelled praises of the mysterious, I guarantee 3am would cross the pages at least once. The utterly supernatural near-silence is one unknown to most, and is curiosity about that which we are unfamiliar not human nature? 


   At least, is it that way at 4 in the afternoon. The lure of only the sounds of insects and oncoming thunderstorms is irresistible, booms of thunder an announcement of its oncoming arrival, a "be there in five" text before a birthday party. 


   If only it were so kind in the moment.


   To the individuals inclined towards restlessness, it is just another time of day. Looking outside and seeing the stars is just another occurrence. There are no fairy tale creatures that only poke at your window when the digits on the clock read 5am or below and there are no secret societies that sink their feet into the earth only when the rest of the town slumbers. 


   What we have is TV static as the channels stop broadcasting, radios playing cheap 80s music that no one cares to listen to but gets the stations money anyways, and hoping. Longing. Longing that the bags under our eyes aren't noticeable after the sun rises, hoping that our concealer is strong enough, longing for a strong enough coffee to save us, hoping that we can close our eyes and have it suddenly be 8am.


   But you just ache too much, think too much, need to move too much. You can't get the exhaustion down. It's a pill that dries your throat and feels like a scorpion's nested in it. You're tired, but you just can't go all the way, or you're so awake you can't even fathom your own bed. All you can do is lie down and force your eyes shut, praying that the blackness will take you. 


   By the time your vision returns to you, who knows if you actually slept or not. It doesn't matter anyways. Your body doesn't care. 


   Look forward to a day of only-half-thereness.