three a.m.

On those rare occasions when I wake up in the middle of the morning, I always feel like I’m the only one in the world who is awake.
I know better.
There is a single Mom who is worried about how she is going to continue to work 3 jobs and support her son. A lonely homeless man who has stopped questioning why he must once again root in the trash behind a local fast food chain for a discarded meal. A student who worries if she’ll be smart enough to get good grades while staring at her flaws in the mirror once again as she blindly texts a stranger who offers misguided attention. There sits a staring daughter who is unsure how to find help with an aging parent who barely recognizes her and lashes out with words she’s never heard before. A trembling child who covers her head with a blanket hoping it protects her from the hurt she knows is on the other side of a pretty painted door. A sobbing wife who is sleeping alone for the first time after losing her mate of 45 years.
My little cup of tea seems so uncomforting at 3 a.m.