The hour before dawn

There's something magical about the hour before dawn. The night is cool and dark. The breeze resounds the inevitability of the passage of the time. Silence is no longer noisy as it was a few hours ago. It is the hour of clarity, of listening to oneself, in clear whispers. Even silence listens quietly and intently to its voice. The tears have dried up, the hysteria died down, and the fatigue eased out. The aura of truth and depth is all-pervasive, even seeping into the dreams of those who sleep, for sleep is the deepest at this hour. This aura, this truth is utterly fragile, for soon the darkness will be drowned in a bright chaos, and the silence swallowed by a fresh bag of highs and woes. Soon, it will be tomorrow. But for me, the beauty that lies in the passing of today is unmatched, for life, after all, is best understood only in its passing, backwards.

I do not know where I want to be tonight. Here, where I am is good enough, because I already am here. Less alone than I thought I was. Less vulnerable than I could handle and more comfortable with the darkness than I ever am. It is so still it manages to put all turbulence to rest, allowing me to sift pain from faith, cracks from trust. It cleanses, and promises to disappear with the dirt as it metamorphoses into dawn. This hour signifies hope to many. To me, it is a source of strength and conviction, that turns up with just what I need, from within me. That liberation envelops me into a comfortable sleep, so I can allow dawn to sing me a fresh lullaby. The only wish that remains is of a little rain, so I would not wake up with salt left on the cheek. But that's too much to ask. The hour helps me forgive. The days will help me forget. And the nights will keep the guilt as the keepsake.

As I walk chasing shadows and as I lie on my bed chasing moments in my head, I run into myself. As the moon disappears, a smile reappears.

This hour is sheer magic; it cures.