tick tock

The fan spins, spins, spins, always moving but never going anywhere, like thoughts chasing their tails, dizzy

The air smells like rain but there’s no rain, just the memory of it hanging in the corners of the room

My hand reaches for the glass, but it’s empty—did I drink it already or did I just imagine thirst?

Footsteps in the hall, too soft to belong to anyone, or maybe they’re mine but I forgot what walking feels like

Why is there a pen on the floor? I don’t remember dropping it, but then again, I don’t remember picking it up either

A dog barks—far away, too far to care, but the sound ripples through the window like it knows where I’m sitting

Do people think in colors? I wonder—this thought is red, no, it’s green, sharp like grass under bare feet

There’s a note on the fridge I haven’t read in days, but I know what it says, or do I? Maybe it changed while I wasn’t looking

Light slips through the blinds, all cut into lines, neat, organized, like it has a plan—I wish I had one

Is it Wednesday? Could be Thursday—what’s the difference? Days feel like cards shuffled in a deck, always the same, never the same

The plant by the window needs water, but I think it’s too proud to ask—leaves curling, a silent kind of surrender

There’s a hum in the back of my mind, like a song I don’t remember hearing but hum along to anyway

My phone buzzes—no, just my imagination again, playing tricks, making ghosts out of vibrations

Why do keys click so loudly when no one’s talking? Like they’re trying to fill the gaps between words I haven’t said

A car passes by—fast, then gone, like everything else, like thoughts that don’t bother to stay, just here for a second then—poof—nothing

The clock ticks, but it’s not really ticking, it’s just there, reminding me it exists even when I forget how to count the hours.