There’s something in the air

at 12 a.m., when the world

is sleeping and the lights

are off.

Something that brings forth

memories thought long forgotten,

pain thought long healed.

I remember every person and

everything I have ever loved—

and the love, it hurts.

A kind of pain that doesn’t

wait for tears.

A kind of pain that lasts

for years.

At 12 a.m., I love a little harder.

I love the sound of empty,

the sound of quiet.

I love the cheese sitting in

my fridge’s drawer.

I love, and I love deeply—

that’s for sure.

I just wish there were a way

to love no more.