Why do I wake up at this time, it seems, every morning. Is it a sign? A biblical reference? Numerology? Happenstance? No, it's not an alarm clock, but regardless of whether it's for good or just to use the bathroom, it seems as if, more times than not, I'm awake at 4:42.
The real problem isn't the time, but our view of that hour. It's either too late or too early. It's dark, quiet and for some lonely. It's a time we should be sleeping, so says the masses. If there was somewhere to be later today, it would be too early, but there isn't, so it appears even earlier. When I used to go to bed every night at an hour well past midnight, it was an unwelcome break in my sleep. When I would come home late, it was inevitably an hour that would ruin much of the next day. So why does it matter?
An hour later, I sit with coffee, a bowl of fruit, a purring feline and it's normal. An early riser, getting a jump on the day, before the sun rises, for some unknown reason. Had life dealt me a different hand and my dreams had been attained, I'd sit in darkness, listening to the sounds around me, warm coffee in had, cool air surrounding me. I'd watch my cat, looking out and seeing what I can not, staring intently at what presumably watches us. The hour would cease to represent another's version of early, or late, and would just be our time. Same as any other hour, which we choose to let others define.
The real problem isn't the time, but our view of that hour. It's either too late or too early. It's dark, quiet and for some lonely. It's a time we should be sleeping, so says the masses. If there was somewhere to be later today, it would be too early, but there isn't, so it appears even earlier. When I used to go to bed every night at an hour well past midnight, it was an unwelcome break in my sleep. When I would come home late, it was inevitably an hour that would ruin much of the next day. So why does it matter?
An hour later, I sit with coffee, a bowl of fruit, a purring feline and it's normal. An early riser, getting a jump on the day, before the sun rises, for some unknown reason. Had life dealt me a different hand and my dreams had been attained, I'd sit in darkness, listening to the sounds around me, warm coffee in had, cool air surrounding me. I'd watch my cat, looking out and seeing what I can not, staring intently at what presumably watches us. The hour would cease to represent another's version of early, or late, and would just be our time. Same as any other hour, which we choose to let others define.
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