A Game of Lost and Found

Time burial

Photo by Jasper Garratt on Unsplash

These nights are long. Sometimes I watch the clock while hours turn to stone. The seconds tick, they tangle up like weeds; wild, overgrown. Sometimes I dig inside the garden in my mind, turn up the soil and look for what got left behind. I fall into a dream; I’m only blood and bone. I sleep alone.

Are you there? I thought I heard your footsteps shake the ground. the thought you buried in your throat, a scream without sound. You fought to finally break free — you took a stand. I changed my skin; I hid your name beneath the sand. And for a time, the clock lay buried underground. A game of lost and found.

I know your smell. It’s home, and smoke, and moonlight through an open door a knowing buried in my heart, remembered twice before. And time still ticks, caught somewhere between earth and sky, between a cold October evening and a morning in July. So tell me, are you absence, ghost, or cruel design – a haunting in the late-night hours of my mind. A clock that never finds its place in time. How we unwind.

Thank you for reading.