In the hushed embrace of 3 am, when the world slumbers and dreams dance in the shadows, an abandoned city whispers its secrets to the lonely soul wandering its empty streets. My heart, a restless wanderer in this desolate landscape, seeks solace in the silence, yet finds only echoes of its own longing.

The streets, devoid of memories or traces of my existence, offer no comfort, no familiarity to cling to. This city, a silent sentinel of sorrow, cradles me in its melancholy embrace as the dawn approaches with a heavy heart.

Everything and nothing converge in the stillness of the night, blending into a tapestry of muted emotions that envelops me like a shroud. The cold fingers of the early morning breeze caress my skin, a gentle reminder of the fleeting nature of time and the transient beauty of life.

In this moment of quiet introspection, my weary heart grapples with the weight of uncertainty, grappling with questions it cannot answer. By 3 am, when words lose their voice and thoughts dissolve into the ether, I am left with only the stark reality of my own existence, laid bare in the dim light of a sleepless night.

And so, in the solitude of the early hours, I weave together fragments of thought and emotion, crafting prose that is at once profound and mundane. An etymology of the soul, a journey through the labyrinth of my own consciousness, where meaning is elusive, and truth is but a fleeting shadow.

At 3 am, in the heart of this abandoned city, I am both lost and found, adrift in a sea of whispered confessions and silent regrets. And as the night fades into day, I am left with the bittersweet realization that sometimes, in the emptiness of the early hours, we find the deepest truths buried within ourselves.

Copyright © Beatriz Esmer