2:00 AM

Leila Touati

The notes written at 2am mean the most

Everything is quiet, but my mind wreaks havoc

Messy scribbles adorn broken paper 

Pencil lead breaks in my hurry to record before I forget

Documenting my hopes, my troubles, my woes

Post-Its hidden away in a cabinet beyond my reach

My words at 2am matter more

The phrases I can’t think aloud in the wake of the day

As practiced eloquence flows easily in the dark of the night

The moon glares down in anger, as I should not be awake

While my eyes, restless and open, watch the darkness outside

The perfect scene of tranquility transforms my doubt-filled mind 

The thoughts at 2am are the heaviest

An anchor weighing on my chest

It feels as if my bedroom gets smaller with every breath I take

Thoughts of what I did not do, could not do, and what I should have done haunt me

A clock chimes, and another hour has passed 

The brightness of the moonlight starts to burn my eyes

Why do the secrets at 2am hurt the most? 

No one to bear them but me

Unshakable toxicities make me afraid to take a sip of water

Hesitant, for it too may be poisonous

The creaks of the old house echo throughout the corridors

Hidden stories from long ago bring a ringing to my ears

This night is longer than the others

Time passes slowly as I lie alone

Pupils cannot adjust to the dark, not this time

Even in the dark, where not a soul can see, I cower behind my bedsheets

At 2am my mind wanders farther beyond the depths

But perhaps when the sun rises 

The words will quiet

Thoughts will cease

Secrets will store away

And the light will return