On being the sad boy at 3 AM

There's a version of me only the moon has met. He is quieter, softer, and doesn't pretend to be okay.

He doesn't answer texts. He doesn't smile for the camera. He sits on the edge of the bed with a hoodie pulled halfway over his eyes and lets the silence say the thing his mouth won't.

3 AM is honest in a way daylight refuses to be. It doesn't ask you to perform. It just asks you to stay.

So I stay. And I write. And sometimes that's the only prayer that reaches anywhere.