By 4 a.m.

When I sit awake at 3 a.m.

Scrolling through petal-dropped


I think of how I'll never

Live them again. Pleasantries

Sink under sands.

There's an ache behind my smile.

There's a longing that will

Soothe like chamomile

But burn the tongue just as fast.

I miss those days and I know

They'll never resurface

In the marching present.

Nothing lasts.

Grateful for the heartache

Because I know

I lived and learned and made an impact.

So maybe I can get some rest

By 4 a.m.

And care to discover future nostalgia

In approaching daylight.