It's said that 3am is really the time for the poets who've lost their lovers,
or for the artist looking for reason within the shapes he creates to bring back the memory.
These memories awaken in the darkness & pick up the broken pieces of the soul from the floor,
sharpening the edges so to cut deep in the flesh, making sure its presence is forever known.
These memories pretend to make coffee again, and sit as we stare into her eyes between the smokey haze rising from the mug.
They made us smile as we watched our happiness slip away,
and left in black.

This keeps the poets awake because the ink won't spill the secrets.
This keeps the artist awake because the brush hurts when he is forced to re-create the outline of her gentle face, the way her hair fell off her shoulders, why his canvas remains blank.