The Beautiful World of 3 am

1

Between walking downstairs and then walking back up, I have forgotten what I’d wanted to say. I only know that it was important to me and that I had meant to say it so that it could be overheard and therefore remembered, at least that I could remember what I’d wanted to say. And now that I’ve remembered, having overheard myself, it was my mother and my father, now dead, that I remember and that I was born to say this out loud.

I enjoy looking at the words mother and father, they give great pleasure to me now though that wasn’t always the case. For they are not characters you can simply dive into and therefore understand, for they were both beautiful and complicated people.

I remember my mother’s voice very clearly. My father’s voice? His voice was made up of many different voices.

2

Evanescence is such a beautiful word, a word that cleans up everything left behind in the past—the dirty dishes, the mess on my desk, the thinking that’s not adding up yet, not adding anything to anything.