Let Me Rest For Awhile

the 3 a.m. man

i expected to meet you halfway but you went to south where your friends watched drunk half-naked girls for fun; three tequila shots for the lady i'll never be and one pina colada with a shot of amnesia and hatred for the girl you left behind and always will.

3:00 a.m. and it's you, drunk, who's ringing my phone:
hello?
heyy

all those words in my head for months just to say bullshit to you when you call. the sun shows up and you're gone, vanished with all the hurt i spoke and you're out drunk with your friends like it's all normal to you.

i'm miserable when you show up but all at once it is always enough for me. i'm miserable but you're enough. i'm overthinking and you're just busy. you're sorry and i'm overreacting.

when i head to north, i meet other guys and they ask me how i've dealt with being alone for so long and i cannot help but weep for the girl who had survived her own foolishness. they probably think i'm crazy. maybe i am. maybe i'm not. i still cannot figure out how 3 a.m. calls haunt me like the way horror movies haunt you.

i want to kiss you, i want to make you warm coffee, i want to share what my days are like with you, i can picture myself falling in love with you if what we had wasn't so fragile. maybe i haven't tried better. maybe it isn't me.

it isn't me.