It was 2:13 AM when I opened my eyes—no alarm, no noise, just silence, thick enough to wrap around me. I laid there for a while, staring at the ceiling, wondering why I’d woken up. It wasn’t the kind of awake that invites you back to sleep. It was the kind that pulls you into memory.

Out of nowhere, faces began to appear. People I haven’t seen or spoken to in years. People who were once constants—daily texts, inside jokes, loud laughter, quiet cries. Now? Strangers with shared memories. And I realized: I missed them. Or maybe I just missed the version of me that existed when they were around.

Friendships, relationships, even those fleeting connections that once felt like home—all of it came back in fragments. Some left with sharp edges. Others, with a warmth that’s hard to describe. And though time has softened the ache, in that moment, I felt it all again.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t smile either. I just… remembered.

Tried to roll over and sleep it off, but my mind was wide awake. So by 4AM, I was up, coffee in hand, watching the world stretch itself awake while mine felt suspended in yesterday. There’s something oddly peaceful about being awake before the sun. Like the world is yours for a little while. Quiet. Honest.

It made me think about how much we carry that never gets said out loud. How many people are walking around with old feelings tucked away in corners of their heart that only come out in the stillness.

I don’t long for anyone to come back. We’ve all moved on, and that’s okay! But there’s a kind of beauty in remembering—to know that it meant something. That they meant something. Even if it’s just a quiet moment at 2AM.

If you ever find yourself awake with memories that won’t let you go back to sleep, maybe don’t fight them. Let them come. Let them remind you of where you’ve been. And then, when you’re ready, get up. Make coffee. Watch the sun rise. Start again.

Some days begin with memories. But they don’t have to define the day.