3 a.m.

Sometimes the night is just too dark for my liking.

Sometimes it’s too quiet.

Sometimes my mind is too loud.

Sometimes I realize how loud the second hand is on my clock.

Sometimes I wish we didn’t need sleep at all.

Sometimes the traffic outside sounds like the ocean.

Sometimes I stare at the artwork on my walls and try to get lost in the scenery.

Sometimes I miss home.

Sometimes I pray to my grandmothers.

Sometimes I wonder what my dog thinks of me when I don’t sleep.

Sometimes I hate.

Sometimes I love.

Sometimes I cry.

But just sometimes.

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