somewhere only i know

there is something infinitely comforting about the middle of the night.
it is dark, friendly.
if i am alone, it is not because i am friendless, but because the rest of the world sleeps.
if i am tired, it is because i should be asleep, not because i am soulsick and weary.
the whir of machines keeps me company.
even the heat of the day leaves me be.
it is time for reflection
time for contemplation
time for the brain to shut off
time for quiet
time for a lack of thinking
time to forget about the things that need doing
time to forget about the things that need thinking
time to forget about love and money
to forget about heartbreak and hunger
to forget about stress and expectations and disappointment and unhappiness.

3am is a time
of remembrances
of forgetting
of aloneness
of quieof being unto myself, needing no one, being needed by no one
of being an island, content to exist, sufficient
of being enough for myself
of ignoring that i would want to be enough for anyone else
of ignoring the fact that i am not enough, for myself or anyone else

3am is a time of deceit
of lies
of secrets
of buried bodies
of locked doors
of closed boxes and mothballs
of hidden hurts and hidden vices
a time when I can lie with more impunity than usual
there is no one to call me out
i can lie to anyone
i can lie to myself
and no one will ever know the difference

the best part of believe is the lie

survival is another question for another day.