The clock don’t tick any more,
it punches.
Each second lands heavy like a bass drum in my skull,
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Like it’s trying to remind me I’m still here when I don’t wanna be.
3:17 AM.
Or maybe 4.
I stopped checking when the numbers started feeling like accusations.
Outside, the streetlight flickers like it’s tired of trying too,
casting this weak orange glow
that makes everything look like a memory already.
Even the pavement looks worn out,
like it’s been walked over by people who had somewhere to go.
I am not one of them.
My phone screen lights up my face,
no notification.
Just me, staring at my own reflection in black glass,
looking like a man buffering.
You’re asleep.
Or maybe you’re not.
That’s the thing about distance -
it breeds questions faster than answers.
You told me not to rush.
But time don’t slow down for love,
it drags it behind a moving car until all that’s left is skin on tarmac.
I tried to sleep earlier,
laid there counting breaths like they owed me something,
but every inhale just brought you closer,
and every exhale reminded me
that you’re not here.
The ceiling’s got cracks in it.
I’ve memorised them now.
They look like maps,
places I can’t afford to go.
My head’s loud.
Not loud like music,
loud like a crowded room where everyone’s talking over each other
and every voice sounds like doubt.
“What if she don’t feel it the same?”
“What if you’re just convenient?”
“What if you’re sending your heart across oceans just for it to drown halfway?”
I sit up.
Chest tight.
Like regret’s got hands.
The kitchen tap is dripping..
slow… steady…
Like it’s counting down to something I don’t wanna reach.
I try to distract myself,
open apps I don’t care about,
scroll through Lives I don’t live,
watch people laugh in places
I’ve never been
with people who are actually there.
Meanwhile I’m here..
talking to pixels,
waiting on a typing bubble like it’s oxygen.
You ever notice how
silence hits different at night?
It ain’t quiet,
it’s pressured.
Like the air's got weight to it.
I swear I can hear my own thoughts echo off of the walls.
I tried writing earlier,
pen hovering over paper like it
forgot how to move.
Even words feel distant now.
I can’t focus.
Can’t finish a sentence.
Can’t even follow a thought without it circling back to you.
You.
Always you.
The distance ain’t just miles,
it’s missed calls,
delayed replies,
different sunrises,
arguments that stretch longer
than they should.
Cos tone gets lost in translation.
It’s me overthinking a full stop.
It’s you saying “I’m tired”
and me wondering if that means of me.
I step outside.
Cold air hits like a slap that
don’t wake you up.
Sky’s empty.
No stars tonight.
Even they clocked out.
I light nothing,
I don’t even smoke..
just stand there pretending I got something in my hand
so I don’t look as lost as I feel.
Somewhere across the world,
you’re living a whole day I ain’t a part of.
Laughing, maybe.
Smiling.
Breathing in air that ain’t touched me.
And here I am,
counting seconds like they owe me rent.
The dangerous part?
It ain’t even the distance.
It’s what it does to your head.
Makes you question your worth.
Makes you rehearse conversations that never happen.
Makes you feel replaceable in a world that’s already too big.
There’s moments,
quiet ones,
where my mind goes somewhere darker.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just… tired.
Like,
“What’s the point if this keeps
hurting like this?”
And I hate that thought.
Hate how casual it shows up.
Like it belongs here.
So I shake it off -
or try to..
pace the room like movement equals control.
The clock still punching.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
I swear it’s louder now.
I check my phone again.
Still nothing.
And that’s when it hits..
not anger,
not even sadness,
just this dull, heavy emptiness.
Like I’ve stretched myself across continents
and forgot to leave something
behind for me.
Love ain’t supposed to feel like survival.
But here I am...
treating every message like medicine,
every call like a lifeline,
every silence like a warning sign.
I sit back down.
Head in my hands.
Morning’s creeping in through
the curtains now,
grey and uninvited.
Another night gone.
Another version of me left behind in it.
And somewhere between
your timezone and mine,
between “goodnight” and “good morning,”
between hope and doubt...
I’m still here.
Still waiting.
Still trying to hold something
that distance keeps trying to break.
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 4:21 PM UTC
The clock don’t tick any more,
it punches.
Each second lands heavy like a bass drum in my skull,
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Like it’s trying to remind me I’m still here when I don’t wanna be.
3:17 AM.
Or maybe 4.
I stopped checking when the numbers started feeling like accusations.
Outside, the streetlight flickers like it’s tired of trying too,
casting this weak orange glow
that makes everything look like a memory already.
Even the pavement looks worn out,
like it’s been walked over by people who had somewhere to go.
I am not one of them.
My phone screen lights up my face,
no notification.
Just me, staring at my own reflection in black glass,
looking like a man buffering.
You’re asleep.
Or maybe you’re not.
That’s the thing about distance -
it breeds questions faster than answers.
You told me not to rush.
But time don’t slow down for love,
it drags it behind a moving car until all that’s left is skin on tarmac.
I tried to sleep earlier,
laid there counting breaths like they owed me something,
but every inhale just brought you closer,
and every exhale reminded me
that you’re not here.
The ceiling’s got cracks in it.
I’ve memorised them now.
They look like maps,
places I can’t afford to go.
My head’s loud.
Not loud like music,
loud like a crowded room where everyone’s talking over each other
and every voice sounds like doubt.
“What if she don’t feel it the same?”
“What if you’re just convenient?”
“What if you’re sending your heart across oceans just for it to drown halfway?”
I sit up.
Chest tight.
Like regret’s got hands.
The kitchen tap is dripping..
slow… steady…
Like it’s counting down to something I don’t wanna reach.
I try to distract myself,
open apps I don’t care about,
scroll through Lives I don’t live,
watch people laugh in places
I’ve never been
with people who are actually there.
Meanwhile I’m here..
talking to pixels,
waiting on a typing bubble like it’s oxygen.
You ever notice how
silence hits different at night?
It ain’t quiet,
it’s pressured.
Like the air's got weight to it.
I swear I can hear my own thoughts echo off of the walls.
I tried writing earlier,
pen hovering over paper like it
forgot how to move.
Even words feel distant now.
I can’t focus.
Can’t finish a sentence.
Can’t even follow a thought without it circling back to you.
You.
Always you.
The distance ain’t just miles,
it’s missed calls,
delayed replies,
different sunrises,
arguments that stretch longer
than they should.
Cos tone gets lost in translation.
It’s me overthinking a full stop.
It’s you saying “I’m tired”
and me wondering if that means of me.
I step outside.
Cold air hits like a slap that
don’t wake you up.
Sky’s empty.
No stars tonight.
Even they clocked out.
I light nothing,
I don’t even smoke..
just stand there pretending I got something in my hand
so I don’t look as lost as I feel.
Somewhere across the world,
you’re living a whole day I ain’t a part of.
Laughing, maybe.
Smiling.
Breathing in air that ain’t touched me.
And here I am,
counting seconds like they owe me rent.
The dangerous part?
It ain’t even the distance.
It’s what it does to your head.
Makes you question your worth.
Makes you rehearse conversations that never happen.
Makes you feel replaceable in a world that’s already too big.
There’s moments,
quiet ones,
where my mind goes somewhere darker.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just… tired.
Like,
“What’s the point if this keeps
hurting like this?”
And I hate that thought.
Hate how casual it shows up.
Like it belongs here.
So I shake it off -
or try to..
pace the room like movement equals control.
The clock still punching.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
I swear it’s louder now.
I check my phone again.
Still nothing.
And that’s when it hits..
not anger,
not even sadness,
just this dull, heavy emptiness.
Like I’ve stretched myself across continents
and forgot to leave something
behind for me.
Love ain’t supposed to feel like survival.
But here I am...
treating every message like medicine,
every call like a lifeline,
every silence like a warning sign.
I sit back down.
Head in my hands.
Morning’s creeping in through
the curtains now,
grey and uninvited.
Another night gone.
Another version of me left behind in it.
And somewhere between
your timezone and mine,
between “goodnight” and “good morning,”
between hope and doubt...
I’m still here.
Still waiting.
Still trying to hold something
that distance keeps trying to break.
