It's 3 a.m,
and a month ago, I would have drugged myself to sleep to simply steal a few hours of blissful unconsciousness.
I would have cried until I couldn't any longer, I would have thumbed through each and every photo of you, your voice would have been my last cognizant thought.
I would wake up and convince myself that if I had to, I would wait an eternity for you.

It's 3 a.m,
and now, I'm not thinking of you.
I haven't touched my sleeping pills all week, and I'm staring at the stars realizing that even the smallest victories are worth celebrating. I no longer close my eyes and hope to see your face when I finally decide to open them again. I smile, and you are not the reason why.

It's 3 a.m,
and your body wasn't the last one to be in my bed. Your hands will soon forget the feeling of my skin beneath your palms, all the while his fingertips are rejoicing at the sensation and singing hallelujah in their sleep. You let me go, and he can't stand to watch me leave.

It's 3 a.m,
and finally,
finally,
finally,
I am free