Four A.M.

It’s been almost two years since I scared one of my friends so bad she wouldn’t go to bed by herself and we ended up staying awake all night, just talking. We talked about a lot of things, the kinds of things that won’t verbalize when the sun is shining.

What is it about the dark that makes it so much easier to be yourself? Why is it that you can talk about the things you really want and the people you really love so much more easily at night than during the day? About who you want to be when you grow up. About what scares you. About what breaks your heart.

I don’t stay up substantially past midnight very often because once I get past the “I’m grumpy because you won’t let me go to sleep” stage, I end up in the “I should probably get off Facebook before I start saying things like you have nice shoulders” stage. Apparently 1 a.m. is when I decide that people have pretty eyes. By 2 a.m., I’ll make you explain things to me that I’d be too shy to ask about in daylight. By 3 a.m., I will literally tell you anything. And by 4 a.am., you’ll known why my heart is broken.

You can’t fix a broken heart. There are always cracks. After a while, you just realize that there are people you shouldn’t be around. Even good people who make you happy, because when the sun goes down and you’re lying in bed alone, they make you feel the cracks. And sometimes that’s great because you know you’re still alive, but sometimes people are a lot more important to you than you are to them. And that hurts. A lot.

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