Three AM

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling quite morose and lonely, and felt a deep and terrible ache of longing for things that could no longer be. I realized then, that the strange thing about devastating loss is that life, untouched by the acts of sheer folly, continues to go on, blissfully unaware of the fact that, in rumpled bed clothes and sleepless and bleary eyes, that sometimes you struggle to take it by the hand and run along with it. It continues to go on, seemingly unaware of the vicious claw marks you have left behind on scarlet memories of the past, and now lie looking in bewilderment at your cracked and bloody fingernails. It continues to go on, tiptoeing past you staring up at the three am sky, toes sinking into the dewy grass, and not realizing the cold seeping into your bones. It continues to slip by as you blow gently and distractedly into your too-hot cup of tea, whose steam and warm aroma floats about you like a close friend as your eyes stay fixated on the last few pages of your favorite book, rereading the last line over and over and willing the story not to end. It slithers right by you as you find yourself quietly humming a song, whose sweet melody springs up from deep within your soul. It continues, gracefully, to dance along with you, bringing with it hope and a promise of a new life.