--- The clock skips seconds when no one’s watching, and I swear my shadow breathes some nights. There’s a garden in my chest that grows weeds and names I forgot to forget. Birds fly in crooked lines above the wires, like even they aren’t sure where to go. I follow their doubt like a map, hoping lost things still have destinations. Some days feel like half-drawn circles, unfinished but still spinning. I hold onto the blur of it all, because stopping feels louder than going. ---