The Quiet Hours Before Dawn

In the hush before dawn, when the world is asleep and the streetlights flicker like thoughts I forgot to chase, I sit — not quite dreaming, not quite awake.
This is the hour when memories feel like ghosts, and future plans dress themselves up like lullabies.
I breathe in stillness. I exhale the weight of growing up.

It’s late — 3:05 AM. I should be asleep, but tonight I’m choosing to stay awake. I’m listening to this song, and somehow it’s keeping my eyes open, keeping my heart from drifting off.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the version of myself I used to be. I miss her. It’s been a year since I last picked up a crochet hook, braided yarn between my fingers, or touched the strings of my violin. But it feels like it’s been a lifetime. I miss the softness of those evenings, the rhythm of creating something slowly, stitch by stitch, note by note. I want to start again.

I want to decorate the apartment — hang new curtains, get a new stove top, toss a few cozy pillows onto the sofa. I want to bring my old music records from home, to fill the air with familiar sounds. I want to plant flowers on the windowsill and watch something grow under my care.

I want to start working out and spend time with children — maybe even work with them one day. I miss seeing my siblings more often. My 11-year-old brother keeps asking when I’ll come back to play with him and our 3-year-old sister, to take them to the park like we used to. My 14-year-old sister wants to come stay with me for a night, go to a concert together. And my 18-year-old sister is just about to start university, stepping into her own adult life now.

And me? I sit here, typing in the quiet hours when I’m not studying or working — trying to pass the time, trying not to feel too lonely.

Sometimes my brother asks if I have a boyfriend, when I’ll get married, when I’ll have kids. I don’t know how to tell him that maybe I’ll always be alone.

But deep down, I still dream. I dream of children — maybe not biological, maybe adopted. I’ve always pictured a little boy with curly blond hair and blue eyes, with skin pale as milk, like me. Maybe another with dark hair and brown eyes, or a couple of girls… I don’t know. Just a home filled with warmth and laughter.

Right now though, I’m focused on university, on studying. I don’t have time for a boyfriend, let alone a husband. But maybe, just maybe, I’d like to be married by 25 or 26. And if I’m not a mom by 29, I think I’ll adopt. There are so many children who deserve love, who need a family.

But for now, I’m going back to studying for my genetics test at 11 AM. I feel like I know everything, but still — there’s fear. There always is.

Enough dreaming for now. Time to return to reality.

And when the sun comes, it won’t know the stories I whispered to the night.
But maybe, somewhere between lecture halls and longings, between tea cups and tangled thoughts — I’ll find her again.
The girl who played the violin.
The one who believed that love would find her too.

by Onnaya