3AM used to be my favourite hour of the day for aching reasons. It was the moment your presence was strongest in my soul. It was when I would stay up, struggling to get words out about how much you consumed me and how the wave would never ride out. It was the hour I constantly checked my phone, waiting.. no, more like hoping and praying you would call, even if it was an accidental dial. It was when I’d lie in bed creating scenarios of when we would have a second chance to make a first impression, and I swore to myself that we’d somehow get it right if God let us cross paths again. I still remember those nights out with my girlfriends, singing my heart out, and every song would still take my mind back to you, even when I was dancing with someone else. Some nights, being in the part of town you lived in had me praying that with a miracle, we’d end up on the same dance floor.
And that final night—the second chance I had been waiting for. You opened the door like you did the very first day, same smile, same hazel eyes, and the same kind of laughter. I saw how much I changed over the past two years that night. I was no longer the girl you repeatedly said goodbye to. I became the woman that was able to leave pretentious lovers who couldn’t keep promises. It made me realize how many 3AMs had passed since you walked away. I stopped walking down memory road just to let the past versions of you make me feel. After all the countless nights of staying awake for someone who refused to wake up next to me on a Sunday morning, I stopped counting.