Time scares me in way nobody else can.
It moves swiftly, penetrating my skin, suffocates my lungs, and blocks my view.
Its honestly not anything new.
I was 5 and the first one there.
Once the clock strikes ten, I’d think of all the things that might’ve happened to you.
Time flies by and now it’s next Wednesday, but you didn’t immediately check your phone for my message.

Few years later, I was thought math so I can make the most of my teenage years.
I add, subtract, divide every hours and minutes and seconds of my life.
I am 15 and the first one there.
I watch as my inboxes slowly fills up with apologies.
I sat there in an eight-seat table, alone.
Drive back home and bathe in a pool of vitriol.

I will be 25 and be the first one there.
My colleague will look up to me.
They’ll make me the face of the company.
But I’m just one of the many.
Then, it’s a Friday night.
Out for drinks at eight.
but I didn’t know that eight don’t mean eight.
Again, I’m alone in a bar with all the right things to drink.
So maybe I’ll stop hearing the clock ticks.