It’s 3AM Once Again…

by Lily Williamson

It’s 3am once again,

… it is hazy, and cosy and I am at peace in this moment with no desire to fully register where or even who I am.

I peek out of curiosity, 3:03,

Relief overwhelms any sense of unease knowing there are at least 8 hours between me and my incessant alarm,

It’s such a cliché but I twist and turn repeatedly until I’m dizzy with unrest,

I have this ache of happiness, when you know something good has occurred, but you can’t pinpoint the origin when you first wake up,

Then I remember I had the best day,

It started with a lie in and some delicious brunch, OJ and avocado toast, I bathed in a warm cascade of droplets and sat staring in the mirror waiting for motivation to grab my things and start doing something, anything.

Window shopping e.g. spending all the money I shouldn’t in Vintage shops, left for hours to divulge in the rails and rails of hope, knowing at any moment I could discover my new favourite maxi skirt.

I’m on a bench and the sun rays warm my face, I’m reading, and she has fallen down the rabbit hole falling and falling and falling. I feel eyes on me as if I have my own form of a white rabbit shadow.

People watching to the point of being nosy is one of my favourites past times. I potter along to the local pub at my own pace and sit back with a cider, I play games you only play every now and then, darts and dabble in pool.

Then it’s time for a gig, full of cool strangers you’ll only meet once and hope to bump into at some other point in your existence.

Yet they feel so awfully familiar.

The first chords play, the crowd is hyped, you feel a bit of your neighbour’s beer down your arm.

And then it hits me, my arm is not wet, I am not compressed in a busy crowd, I am in my bed, its 3:05am, that overwhelming warmth in my gut was the only thing left of my dream, that came to an abrupt end.