The Clock I Couldn't Read

The Clock I Couldn’t Read

Fate was a clock
I never quite knew how to read—
bent arms,
slanted numbers,
ticking in ways
that made no sense.

Each second the hands stood still
was torture.
My thoughts splintered
like frost on glass,
no guidebook to follow,
just stale air
held in burning lungs
as I waited—
hoping the universe
hadn’t forgotten
to pen my forever.

Maybe Fate was bored,
channel-surfing through timelines,
pulling threads
from stories
that weren’t mine.

Slowly.
Brutally.
Letting me see
how I didn’t fit
into any of the books
I prayed for.

Life blurred past me
at a speed I couldn’t match—
and I stood still,
cheeks streaked with tears,
hands limp,
heart too quiet.

I thought it would end.
But not like that.

Not with a black screen.
Not with a broken clock.
Not with silence
echoing through an eternity
I didn’t ask to write.

But then—
there was you.

A chapter I’d once underlined
and left behind.
The one Fate waited for me
to wake up
and remember.

And every tick of the minute hand
since then
has whispered the truth:
I never needed to become more.
I was already made for this.
Already tethered.
Already fated.

The space between us—
just a pause.
A skipping record
needing the softest tap
to play again.

For once,
time didn’t race.
It held still.

And me—
I was falling.
Fast.
But I wasn’t afraid.

I was calm.
I was ready.
I was home.

No one else ever came close.
I’d been tripped,
shoved,
dragged by things
masquerading as love.

But this—
this was a dive
I took willingly.
No hesitation.
No tether.

I didn’t care about the landing.
And somehow,
I knew it’d be soft—
pillowed in feathers,
cloud-warm,
tender.

Because nothing with you
could ever be hard.

Because being with you
has always been
and will always be
enough.