2am

When the world falls alseep, why am I still sitting here expecting confetti to burst up over my computer screen? Why do I check my silent cell phone? If I've been caught up in a tornado all night, is this just me suffering from the shock of the end of the wind? Or maybe it's just pure insomnia, or abuse of caffiene. Nevertheless, here I sit, watching night breathe on. Love songs play from YouTube, with no meaning other than the soft tune they put into the room.

As I stare at green digital numbers, I can feel time dripping down on me, and I start to feel layers disappear. Tonight is not just tonight - it's every night I've been awake in the middle of the morning, wondering if I'm about to fall out, or if I'll see the sunrise this time. Everytime I've been worried, or blissful, overly contemplative or scared. Any time I have held this vigil, 2am on Fort Washington Avenue. I start to realize I'm staring at the same pencil-smudged plaster and paint I stared at years ago, and signed my name and pledges of love. Written like prisioners' wall carvings to prove that I was once there, in a different form. Of all the things that have changed, I still find myself in the same room, awake, absorbing night's gravity.

And then when the sunrises the purity of the dawn will shine off of urban windows and in faint ways around red and brown bricks. And I will feel every morning I've ever lived, the cold ones and the warm ones. I will feel the simultanious dread and wonder that I'm alive again and there is another day to live where there will be life on earth. Dawn is the best time to determine your character, as light baptizes you. There's a certain signifigance of seeing the first moments of morning - there's a reason you're catching that moment; it doesn't tend to be coincidental, and even if you think so, I suggest you think twice.