3am

Awake and reading Bukowski at 3am. A few classic poems I have just encountered. The man understood. It's good not to be alone in one's desire to be alone. Even if the only other person I know who felt that way is now dead. 
What is it about 3am that wakes me so? Why is it that my mind is tortured every morning from 3am? And in only a few hours I'll be back with the talkers... The ones who've not spoken enough over the weekend and need to hear more of themselves. All the while, I feel as if I've not yet had enough silence. 

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