The clock on the wall never raises its voice
it only ticks, soft and patient,
like it knows something I don’t want to hear.
Every second lands between us
like another small goodbye,
each tick a reminder
that love isn’t always lost all at once
sometimes it fades
one quiet moment at a time.
I used to fall asleep
counting the rhythm beside you,
your breathing syncing with the clock,
as if time itself
had decided to be gentle with us.
But now the room is louder than ever.
The hands keep moving,
and I swear I can hear them whisper
with every passing second
tick — you’re leaving
tick — you already have.
And I sit here listening,
learning the slow, unbearable truth
that time doesn’t break hearts quickly.
It just sits in the corner of the room,
patient and steady,
ticking
until love becomes memory.