Hey.
It's almost 3am.
Where are you?
We've not had our 3am talks for a long, long time.
I stay up to wait every night, you know? At our usual spot.
But you never appear.
I've seen many night skies I wished you were to enjoy with me.
Snowflakes in the clear, cold night. Millions of twinkling nights on a warm summer night. The mild scent of night-blooming flowers in the spring evening. And the autumn nights filled with crisp leaves on the ground at my feet.
Imagine you beside me, here with me.
I think of the talks we would have, all the jokes and horrible puns we would make, all the songs we'd hum together.
When I had setbacks, I'd imagine the advice you would give me. When I was emotionally down, I'd feel your arms around my shoulders. When I had a success in the day, I'd imagine excitedly telling you and you'd already have brought drinks to celebrate because you already knew earlier.
Sometimes I come here forgetting to bring a jacket, because the evenings are so warm and stuffy it's so easy to forget the 3ams are cold even in summer, and then you weren't here to say "stupid" and put your extra jacket on me because you already forseen that I wouldn't remember.
Too many times because of that, and also due to lack of sleep, I fall ill and miss a few days of going there. Maybe I missed meeting you at our usual spot at 3am. Perhaps on the nights that you did wait there for me, I was at home, sick. Our telepathy is horrible now, isn't it.
I have never told a single soul of our spot, nor how important 3am is to me. But I really do miss you. I msis our conversations, you know?
Where are you? I'm still waiting. When you come back, you'll see the magnificent stars and- ooh, if you're lucky, you might catch a shooting star, like just now. I made a wish on it. It's for us to resume our 3am conversations, because that is what keeps me going.
See you tomorrow, at the edge of night and day, early morning late at night, at 3am.
