It’s called “love letter to the predawn hours”.
at this time of day I could be anything
as the inky blue remainder of the night
holds me like a child. instead, I find I want to be nothing and everything but myself.
I only pray I spend it well
and that I am good company. not angry, but soft
and gentle. my mask falls off because I don't have
to dance for the eyes that do not watch me now
and my hands and body are the right kind
of firm and strong, if only for now.
at this time of day I want to be a good houseguest,
a silent ghost, a near fugitive, stealing soft across
the floor, taking in the joy of the wee hours of the morning like the thief I was always told I was growing up, but flipping the script this time. 5:46 keeps me safe from prying eyes and I keep its silence sacred in return as I would a lover, nurturing the ideas it gives me and even cherishing the hum of the fridge in the next room and the slow creaks of the house as the melodies they are. this time of day has always woken me gently, and I am remembering how to hear the music of the world again.
-Allēna 9/7/2025
