The black of 3 am

My favourite time of the day is 3 am.

‘Why?’ You might ask. Well the answer is quite simple, but the answer is quite complicated.

…You’ll understand in time. All we have is time, especially at 3 am.

3 am is for the people, a heaven and a hell that works hand in hand. Most are sleeping by 3 am, the normal practice. That’s not the true 3 am though, not in the slightest.

3 am is uneasy breathing as you wake from a nightmare, alert and ready for danger before you realise it cannot cross the plains into reality. It existed, but the silence that 3 am offers you reminds you it is no longer real. It was real, but it’s gone. Maybe it’ll be back, but not now- not at 3 am.

However for some, it’s far too real, far too close, and it’s right there. 3 am is there to support them though, the black filled with soft light from the moon. It makes the lights we use seem so bright, makes every step seem too loud. Yet, it is perfect.

3 am is technology lit rooms. It’s for the gamer who has yet to quit their endeavours, with softly pressed keys and hushed voices. It’s for those who the 3 am favours, letting the time wash by as they hope for sleep, reprieve, something. It rarely comes. They hate the 3 am.

3 am is for bright white lights of shops that seem amiss in the black of night. The people inside always vary, but not all of them want to be there, not all of them like that side of 3 am. It’s filled with soft chatter, or more often, no chatter. A silence that booms… that ticks on by…

The people all have reasons for being there. Some can’t sleep as a duty to their family, to travel within the black of night to lessen their families load. Some can’t sleep because of what sleeping means for them, the horror it brings along, again, and again.

Then there are those that brave the 3 am for something so insignificant as money. The cashier, who experiences the full blunt of how slow 3 am can be. The man with a gun, he’s the most desperate, but he knows how bad the 3 am can get. The officers, tired, exhausted, but they have a job to do.

3 am is terrifying. It’s black, black, black. It’s lonely. It’s scary. There are things that happen at 3 am, in back alleys and bar bathrooms. 3 am teaches you just how horrible the world is, how unmerciful it is.

I think… 3 am depends on the people. It’s made for the people.

3 am is the time where no one judges. Where people can be their truest selves. For best or for worse.

3 am is like the sky. The night sky. It’s black, black, black. That is it. It’s darkness, and darkness, and it swallows up everything…

3 am is like the sky. Bright and full of stars, all so far away. The sky is darkness, darkness, darkness, but it allows us to see, to truly see what surrounds us. It shows us the stars, so, so far away, burning and burning away. Until you realise that we can only see what the stars once were, a bright light before it burns out.

3 am is for loss. For quiet sobs and silent wailing. It’s for time to stop, to let reality hit you head on. 3 am is for selfish, hateful crying, over losses you never used to think you had to prepare for.

3 am is for pain. For bubbly and outgoing people to let their feelings take control, to lose the mask they present the world. It’s a time for red to meet bathroom tiles. It’s a time for young people to fly. It’s time for pain.

3 am is pain, and it doesn’t know anything else.

3 am is for love. For heart to heart chats on top of bridges, or whispered phone calls under blankets. 3 am is for wrapping wounds you shouldn’t have made, but knowing they will worry your friend, so hiding them is a priority.

3 am is for promises. A text that says you’ll love them forever, a voice message saying it’s not their fault, never their fault. Sometimes, it’s promising them unconditional love, and sometimes it’s promising them more time. 3 am is mysterious like that.

Despite it’s flaws, I love 3 am. I recognise it for what it is. It’s a time to rest, to scream, to cry, to mourn, but it’s also a time to talk, to connect, to know you aren’t alone.

3 am is peaceful. 3 am is awful. It gives, but then it takes, takes, takes.

3 am is where I met you for the first time. On the very bridge I wouldn’t leave, I met you. We spoke of 3 am together under the moonlight. We spoke of 3 pm as well. 3 pm caused your 3 am after all.

3 pm was something that took a long time to come for you, but once it was there you would savour it, even if only for a moment. You spent your days wishing for 3 pm, because if 3 am was for life to pass, 3 pm was for school to pass.

Then, you spoke of such unfairness’s that were never righted once 3 pm came for you, the aftermath of 3 pm. We both knew that 3 am was your only reprieve of the day, and yet you decided that 3 am was worth dealing with what surrounded 3 pm.

It wasn’t my first 3 am, but it was yours. So, we talked and talked and talked. I managed to stop your plans. Each night you came, and each night I stopped you. Each night I could stop you.

Your 3 pm never got any better, I knew that, I knew that, I knew that. Your 3 am’s got so regular, we got so regular, then we got better. Or did we? Was I just imagining that?

I saw you smile more- soft and so, so vulnerable. You gave me your soul, whispered every secret, and yet-

…You were my sister. My little, baby sister. Not by blood. Not by name. But by 3 am whispers.

You were blood in ways that mattered. Shared blood splattering pavements and matching bruises from after our 3 pm. You were my 3 am, you made my 3 pm bearable, and I returned the favour as much as I could. Little sister. You were so, so little. We were far too young.

I broke our promise first. It was selfish, foolish, and absolutely monstrous of me.

You weren’t there. You didn’t need our 3 am. I slipped. I’m sorry, so, so sorry.

I knew there would be consequences. When you came to our spot on the abandoned bridge the next 3 am… oh, I tried to hug you tight as you wailed, pulling you into a cold embrace. It was no use though, no matter how tight I held you, no matter how much I loved you. I failed you.

My dear little sister.

You were the only person to find my body- and I, yours.