2am

The 2am seduction. The witching hour. The time when novels are written, homes broken and entered. The time when lights are switched off and arms are stretched out over couches. A yawn becomes an embrace because, perhaps, we are at a low point. The time I wake, haul myself up in bed and wait for the clock to come clear in my focus, just a vague glow at first but I know the time regardless. I wake at 2am. Sometimes at some minutes past the hour. Sometimes before. Anticipatory. I wake and I think about words unwritten and words being spoken in other places, battlements breached, the lowpoint of the high point depending how you see it. My low point. Your high point. Strange that I wake to it. Strange that I know in this ridiculous way. This witchy way. My eyes focus, the numbers solidify and it is 2am.