The Small Hours

What becomes of the small hours? What becomes of the hours when you lie awake but no one is home? What becomes of the late hours, the hours of fear and regret? What becomes of the sour stomachs and dry eyes as the sun creeps slowly around the planet? What becomes of the hours so alone, miles away from any soul, completely terrified, hiding under the sheets?

What becomes of the small hours?

They are the hours you scrub off in the shower before work. They are the hours you exhale as smoke in the cold morning air. They are the hours you try to forget with loud music in the car.

But they remain.

The terrors of the small hours will leave you cold and alone. Drenching your sheets and twisting your insides. They call to you as you try to forget them, pushing them from your consciousness. You may try…but you will not succeed.

You will struggle in vain to vanquish the fears found in the small hours, but they will always haunt you…even when the sun comes up.