3:43 a.m.

Perhaps it’s a joke

that I crave

solitude but hate

being lonely,

escaping

the noise of humanity

but still needing

someone to hold me.

Cradled in contradiction,

when you call

my name,

relief and apprehension

are the same

because I want to be

loved not needed.

Maybe, it’s different

at 3:43 a.m.,

beneath the sheets

and heavy

promises made only

across pillows,

when you

confess that everything

changed after me,

and there birthed

was a twinge of belonging.

I had marked

your time so tumultuously.

Perhaps, it was worth waiting

out your storm.

But no wealth of affection

can bring quietude

to this unraveling affliction,

the unrest like bees

drilling through my skull

because peace

was never an option.

All I have ever

wanted is silence,

but finding it

seems like a pipe dream,

long lost

to our covenant

of the companioned.