OH, THREE HUNDRED

What is it about the hours of the morning just after three that ignites all of the latent feelings, thoughts, and words coursing within me?

What is it about the darkness that is just about to break that lets me admit to myself that I wish to write forever, and ever, about anything and everything for my consumption, your consumption?

What is it about no one else stirring around me that gives my soul the ease and space it needs to breathe in a good and healing breath and exhale out firmness of foot?

What is it about a world half-asleep, and me just steps from the land of dreams myself, that calls forth everything that has been in hiding, consciously and subconsciously, and says to me, “Be yourself, little one. Go on. Stretch your wings. Fly a little.”?

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