one night, i counted the seconds the ones i could hear from my broken wall-clock each tick was one second, and i would tap my fingertips together to count reaching to the hundreds
running to catch a moving train, id lose my train of thought and start again
each tick, every second is the amount of time to dot a page with the tip of a pen to stipple it with ellipses for a quiet read
one night, i counted the silence the ticking between the words i counted the periods, the commas every pause that collected thoughts and i wondered with my jumbled mind on what the amount of time in a person's life is spent on thinking before speaking pondering on what to say til the last second
i think it comes with the fear of stumbling over your words to get tongue-tied and garbled the fear of embarrassment as you pick your sentences up from the floor not knowing what to use in an appropriate manner yet time ticks by, each second dotting the space as you race for a response against looking like a fool and looking like a fool one with words unsaid and one with the wrong thing spoken
one night, i counted the seconds i counted the dots when i would type a reply the three dots of contemplation and the conversation ends.
People seated in a cafe are in ocean tides of conversation, revealing themselves through words to one another, awakening wings of emotion and thought, if only humans knew of their light, shining eternal.