2am

About this track

“Are you up?” that’s what you texted at 1:23, and I was halfway through a cold cup of tea I forgot to drink, staring at the streetlight flicker through the blinds like it was talking to me. So I wrote back, “Yeah, what’s wrong?” and you said, “Nothing… just don’t wanna sleep alone tonight.” Your voice on the phone was soft, like you were trying not to crack in your parents’ driveway with the engine light still on. You said, “Do you remember that bench by the river? The one where we first kissed? Could you meet me there… just for one night?” So I grabbed my hoodie from the chair, stepped into the hallway where the floor still creaks on the second stair, and walked past the corner shop where you always bought peach gum and said it tasted like summer. And when I found you by the water, you were hugging your knees, hair tied up messy, your breath turning to white in the November breeze. You didn’t look up, you just said, “I didn’t know who else to call, I’m sorry.” I sat beside you and you leaned your head to my shoulder like habit, and whispered, “Why does everything feel heavier at night?” I said, “Maybe ‘cause it’s quiet enough to finally hear ourselves.” You laughed a little, picking at the sleeve of my hoodie like you always used to, and said, “Can we just be us again? Not the broken version, just… tonight?” So we stayed there, watching the city blink like it was falling asleep in our place, your hand finding mine without asking permission, like the way the tide climbs the stones without knowing why. And you said, “Promise me we won’t talk about tomorrow.” So I answered, “Then promise we’ll make tonight enough to survive it.” We sat in that small bubble of cold air and warm honesty, two people who didn’t know how to fix anything, but knew how to hold each other on a night we didn’t want to face alone.