3 AM.
She’s up. From sleeping soundly on a porch in the back, to a couch in the living room, and finally to a bed where she knows she’ll sleep better for the night.
Until 3 AM.
In one moment her eyes will open and her heart will beat wildly and every available red blood cell coursing through her body will fire into her brain.
It makes complete sense to her this would happen. 3 AM is the witching hour.
And she’s a witch.
Her legs wrapped tightly around the world she’ll squeeze with her thick, powerful thighs until she can feel a bit of love ooze from the corners onto her rounded belly.
She knows love lives there. In all the violence, darkness, tragedy, suffering, and fear of the world she knows, there is still love. It’s part of the substance of humanity.
And like the ripest summer peach, if she bites into it, juice will drip down her chin. She won’t stop the sticky goodness while it slides down her throat through the passage between her breasts. She’ll remember peach season doesn’t last long. There’s a small window of time to eat the peaches while they’re ready like this. You can’t pick them until the perfect moment because unlike other fruit, peaches, once plucked from their trees, will not continue to ripen.
When the world is ripe and ready it will know this love. For now it’s 3 AM and she sends a little Ho’oponopono into the air. Closes her eyes and falls back asleep dreaming about summer peaches and how incredible it’ll be to bite into one again soon.