In the wee hours is what gets me. I know I could phone a friend, but what on earth would I say? I know if I polled the audience they would just tell me to go back to bed…
Yet, in the wee hours is when I can’t breathe. It’s when the weight of the world sits squarely on my chest and dares me to get up and try to fight.
The wee hours is when I am scared, when there is no one there to hear my pain.
All this you left behind. So much to do.
Small things like my closet door is broken and I can’t seem to fix it. The cabinet that hangs slightly to the right because I can’t seem to fix it. Children’s hearts that are hurting that I can’t seem to fix it.
So much to do and in the wee hours, I lack the strength.