It’s 2 A.M. And I’m Thinking Of You

It’s 2 a.m. and the bartender has called last call. I know the saying “nothing good happens after 2 a.m.” I know I should go home, yet I find myself drifting to thoughts of you.

I can’t help but wonder if tipsy you ever thinks of me.

And just like that, I find myself texting you.

“Hey – you up?”

It is the simplest of texts, yet at 2 a.m. it holds an entirely different meaning.

I know I should call my Uber, yet I find myself walking the too familiar path to your place. You haven’t even responded, but I already know how this plays out.

And just like that, my phone lights up. It’s a text from you. My mind is telling me to stop. It’s begging me to put my phone away, yet my fingers refuse to listen.

“Hey, yeah, I just got back. Come over?”

“I’m just a couple of blocks away.” I write back. “I’ll see you in a few.”

What is it about 2 a.m. that makes us make the poorest of decisions?

I head over and it’s the same old story. No small talk is needed—we’re way past that now. It’s just a string of clumsy drunk moments: our lips kiss, our clothes fly everywhere.

I know I shouldn’t crave this, yet it feels so damn easy.

And just like that, I’m lying in your arms, our legs still intertwined, and damn, it feels like home.

But I know it’s not my place to stay, I can’t get too comfortable; we all know how this plays out.

So, I kiss your lips goodnight, I call my Uber, and I leave during the quietest of nights.

I tell myself I’m going to stop; I deserve something more.

But we all know that’s a lie.

It’s 2 a.m. I’m all alone, thinking of you.