The hours stack like brittle glass
Each one trembling
Under its own weight
The world flickers
At the edges
A film reel slipping
Off its track
Shadows move first
Then light
Then whatever I am
In between
My thoughts wander
Without asking permission
Drifting through old rooms
I swore I’d locked
Touching memories
I meant to bury
Under cleaner snow
The mirror doesn’t argue anymore
It just watches
Patient
As if waiting for me
To remember
Which version of myself
I left behind
On day three
Or five
Or seven
Still
I keep going
A quiet pulse
In a body made of static
Counting the days
Like beads on a rosary
Hoping that somewhere
Between now
And whatever comes next
Sleep will find me
And call me
By my real name