Awake at the hour with no name

Somewhere around two, the day officially ends and nothing officially begins. It's not tonight anymore, not really, but it's not tomorrow either. It's just this in-between hour that doesn't get its own name on the clock.

I end up there more often than I'd like to admit. Not because I'm doing anything useful with the time — I'm not solving anything, not making plans, not writing the things I tell myself I'll write. Mostly I'm just awake, listening to the building settle, watching a ceiling that looks the same as it did the last time I couldn't sleep.

I used to think there was a reason for it, something I could find and fix if I looked hard enough. I've stopped looking. Some nights the reason is nothing at all — just a mind that decided two a.m. was a fine time to be running.

If you're reading this at that hour too, I don't have anything to hand you. Just company, for as long as the hour with no name lasts.