5am

Dear 5 am,
 
I fucking hate you, and your friend, 6 am, isn’t much better when I have to view you both from the right side of daylight. The long side has always been more viewable, sunrises more tantalising to behold after an all-nighter of reading or talking to the trees through the fly screen.  
 
I’m lonely, and your presence wakes me unwanted from dreams I would rather not be having. That they’re empty or unpleasant is irrelevant. At least in my dreamings, I am not alone.
 
My head craves caffeine and my mouth is full of that cotton wool feeling in lieu of the secret craving I have for cigarettes.  
 
I remember my old pre-dawn cancer stick and sugarless caffeine hit, back when insomnia kept me up, or kicked me awake. There are few pleasures as simple as lining your lungs with tar and watching the sun rise over the palm trees and the wonky wooden fence, the dog whimpering dreamily in her basket. For the few brief minutes it took to inhale my way closer to death, everything was right with the world.
 
So, again, 5 am, I really must protest. If you’re going to wake me up, at least have the courtesy of handing me a cigarette and a cup of coffee. It would be least you could fucking do, for waking me up on the wrong side of you.
 
© Indie Adams 2012