“I love the 3 a.m. version of people. Vulnerable. Honest. Real.” ~ Unknown
I live for 3 a.m. and the magic that comes from the small moments.
There’s magic in the witching hour, that time of night when everything that we have pretended to be melts away, leaving only our hearts—and who they beat for.
It’s a time of sleepy eyes and hushed voices that whisper truths that can’t be uttered during the light of day. Perhaps life just becomes more real in the darkness. Maybe it’s only in the dead of night we see what was always there, but were too blinded to feel.
Three in the morning is for realists and dreamers, our hearts, and the passions that make our face flush in anticipation. It’s quiet—yet tingling with the sparks of knowing that we can say those things that we think—yet wonder if we really should.
It’s my favorite time of night.
Sometimes we follow too many rules, we abide by the unspoken expectations of never saying too much, never really being too transparent—and of course—never really saying what we are feeling.
Yet, somehow, as this time rolls around, those barriers drop. The whys disappear and all we are left with is the truth that falls from our minds like stars across the darkened sky.
We speak the love, the passionate, the heartfelt—all of the aspects of our souls that we feel the most deeply.
There’s a break in time during the heavy morning hours. It is almost as if we are between worlds, possibly it is because we are. Those unique moments between one day and another; the hour when we are simultaneously between an ending and a beginning.
It’s that time of night when anything is possible—because tomorrow is not yet promised.
And so I drink it in, I swim through it, and I make love to its intoxicating warmth.
Three a.m. is the time for lovers. There is no truer time for love than when the rest of the world is sleeping. The kind of love that makes you wonder what you ever did to deserve something so incredible—so much like what you’ve always wanted.
There’s something about a love that is shared quietly in the darkness that seems brighter than anything else. I don’t know why, but it seems that the farther we go into night, the more ourselves we become.
We leave behind the masks that we wear during the day, and instead, become who we truly are. The self that exists when no one else is around, when we don’t have to think too much about what we say or do. Instead, we let it flow like the sea and land where it’s meant to.
Perhaps 3 a.m. isn’t for everyone.
Perhaps, for many, the lure of this fantastical hour seems lost, but for me it seems that it’s all there is. Many days I find myself waiting for the moon, waiting for darkness to come, and the silence of night that holds me close, and my dreams closer. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the warmth of the sun, but I don’t truly bloom until no one is watching.
So I live for these moments, the occurrences that I can’t speak of to anyone else, and the memories that are made that I know I won’t ever forget.
It’s the hour of honesty, love that tilts our world around, and the kind of kiss that lasts until the early breath of sunrise. A kiss that starts on one day and ends on another—a passionate exchange of breath, speaking the sounds of love, where words fail. A sweetness of tender interactions, and the completeness that is born within an embrace of the authentic.
Perhaps it’s the actual kiss of two lips meeting, or maybe it’s one that has been exchanged between the minds. The delicious foreplay of intelligence that creates possibility out of the expected and blooms erotically out of discussions based in “what ifs.”
It’s tasting the thoughts of another just as deeply as I do their body.
Letting my lips linger on their consciousness, licking their buried fears, and fondling their sweet misdemeanors until we both come into our realizations that there must be something beyond the ordinary—and perhaps we’ve both stumbled upon it simultaneously.
Three in the morning is the time of no regrets.
I’ll never know what it’s like to be fearful of the night, or of the depths that most don’t understand. For me, the most terrifying aspect of life is one that we close our eyes to, one that we fear too much to ever fully choose.
I have no desire to live like everyone else—for I know that I am meant for so much more.
We all have a life that exists beyond what our limited minds think possible, yet it seems we rarely have the courage to travel there. The irony is that, if we do, fully returning to life as we knew it before becomes impossible. There isn’t any way to go back to being satisfied with just “okay,” when we’ve learned what it feels like to dance in the flames of amazing.
The problem with 3 a.m. is that we see things for how they really are—not just how we wish they would be.
It’s the hour when we can no longer lie to ourselves, or live within a make-believe world of our own creation because only what’s real can exist when the rest of the world is sleeping.
As for me, I am ruined; for superficiality and shallow thoughts become nothing more than puddles that I skip through on the way to my destiny.
It seems that there is just something about 3 a.m.—everything is crystal clear.
It’s the time for love and for the kind of kiss that lasts until sunrise.
Author: Kate Rose
Editor: Lieselle Davidson