But even at 3 a.m. when my bed is cold and lonely, I won’t let your name touch my lips.
And at 4 a.m. after I’ve stared at my ceiling for 60 tortuous minutes, when my demons come out to play, I know now, that you can’t save me.
Because deep down I know that when 8 a.m. rolls around with the obnoxious wake up call of my alarm, that my cheeks will be dry.
And when I crawl to the shower with exhaustion hugging my body, I know that the water will wash away any doubts and insecurities.
I know with certainty that you are no match for the powerful morning sun.
And as I lay here, counting my failures in my head, with my entire body trembling with your absence, I know that this darkness will pass too.
That’s the funny thing about night.
After 2 a.m. your presence becomes so fucking real and I am left running from your poison.