It's 3:07 AM.
The fan is spinning overhead, making that familiar, tired noise — like even it's bored of this silence. My room's a mess. It's dark and I should clean. I should sleep. I should do a lot of things.
Instead, I'm lying here, eyes wide open,
with thoughts that are clawing at my chest.
This is when the truth comes out, isn't it? Not during the day, when you can smile through it or distract yourself with a YouTube video or some random meme. Not in the afternoon, when you're around people and you have to pretend like your chest doesn't feel like it's collapsing. But right now. In the quiet. In the dark. When no one's watching.
This is the time for confessions.
Things I only admit at 3AM.
Like —
I still check your profile.
Even though I don't want to. Even though I hate myself a little each time I do. But it's like some twisted kind of comfort. Proof that you still exist. That this wasn't all some fever dream I made up. That I wasn't just loving a ghost.
Like —
Some nights I still imagine your name lighting up my screen. Just once. Just a "hey." Nothing else.
And how pathetic is that?
Like —
How I still talk to you in my head. I still imagine what you'd say. How you'd react to the smallest things. I saw a dumb reel earlier and I laughed. But then I thought— she would've laughed too. And suddenly, it didn't feel funny anymore.
Like —
I haven't really healed. Not how people think I have. I've just gotten better at hiding it. Better at smiling during the day, so I can quietly fall apart at night. Better at nodding when someone says, "You seem better now." I never correct them. But inside, I'm screaming.
And Like —
I still hope. God, that's the worst one.
Even after everything —
Even after being erased like I was nothing,
Even after the silence, the ignoring, the blocking —
Some part of me still holds on to this microscopic, delusional hope. That maybe, just maybe, you'll remember me one night. That something will hit you and you'll miss me. Regret it. Want me back.
I hate that part of me.
But I don't know how to kill it.
Like —
I still can't listen to certain songs.
They bring back too much.
And sometimes, I do listen to them anyway, just to cry harder. As if hurting more somehow proves I still care.
Like —
I have full days where I pretend you never existed. I keep busy. I do chores. I smile even, maybe.
But then night comes.
And the pretending cracks open.
And I realize I was only trying to escape you all day. That nothing's real anymore unless it's tied back to you.
I don't know who I am without this pain.
And that terrifies me.
Because if I let go of it, if I really move on— then what? Then who was I all those months I loved you? All those nights I stayed up, all those words I wrote, all those hopes I held onto like religion?
Still after all these —
I can't even resent you.
Right after, I feel guilty. Because I still love you. Or at least the version I keep in my head.
Like —
I'm scared you'll be completely fine. That you are already. That I'm just a name you used to know. That maybe you never loved me like I did you. That it was always uneven, always temporary, always one-sided— no one told me until your silence did.
And here's the most painful thing I only admit at 3AM —
I don't want to forget you.
Even though remembering you hurts.
Even though moving on would probably be the right thing.
I don't want to erase you from the place you still take up in my chest. I won't block you.
Because even if you left me,
Even if you stopped caring,
Even if you never think of me again —
I still remember everything.
The way your voice sounded when you were tired.
The way you laughed when you didn't want to, but couldn't help it.
The way you used to say "hey" like it meant something more.
And maybe someday all of this will fade.
Maybe I'll stop waking up in the middle of the night.
Maybe I'll stop waiting for something that's never coming back.
But tonight?
Tonight it's 3:41 AM.
And you're still everywhere.
Still in my head.
Still in my chest.
In my breathing.
Still in all the things I can't say when the sun's out.
So I write them here.
Because it's the only place I'm still allowed to be honest.
These are the things I only admit at 3AM.
And maybe that's enough— for now.