6am.

by Ashley Bueno and Leila Hicarte

Photo from sofiageee, VSCO

every day, i hear a ringing sound.

when the clock's hand drops,

when the minutes change,

and the hour turns to 6am.

it pierces through the silence

and breaks me out of my reverie.

and through a screen i see a part of you,

wishing me a good morning.

without warning

we fell into a clockwork cycle

of me waiting for a message,

of you giving me hope.

as i wait for 6am to come,

it became home.

with the smallest thought of you

filling me with euphoria

6am became special

because its not just an hour,

not just when my alarm chimes

but because its an emotion

and its my place of happiness.

but i should have known better

than to believe our 6am talks will stay.

because now déjà vu taunts me

as our flame faded with the night.

the ghost of you haunts me

when the clock's hand drops,

when the minutes change

and the hour turns to 6am.

the silence remains still

no breaking the nostalgia that traps me

because only through a screen do i see you

a faint memory of you wishing me a good morning

it'll go on for years.

i know that at least.

i will continue this lonely cycle

of me grieving for you,

of me missing your warmth.

all by myself,

alone at 6am.