What Time Teaches

What Time Teaches

Time is a quiet teacher

it never raises its voice,

never begs to be noticed,

yet somehow,

it is always heard.

It slips through our fingers

like water we swore we could hold,

pooling in memories,

dripping into regrets,

evaporating into dreams we swore we’d chase “tomorrow.”

Time doesn’t wait

for broken hearts to mend

or for apologies to form on stubborn lips.

It keeps moving

steady, unbothered,

as if it knows something we don’t.

Maybe it does.

Maybe time knows

that healing isn’t loud

it’s in the mornings

when the weight feels a little lighter,

in the laughter that surprises you

after days of silence.

Maybe time knows

tha...

How does he sleep?

How does a man call himself a father

yet wake each morning with such ease?

How does he stretch his arms to the sunlight

without the weight of the children

he helped bring into this world?

How does he sit at a table and eat,

take slow sips from his glass,

taste the comfort of a full meal,

knowing somewhere out there

his children exist

without his hands to feed them,

without his voice to guide them?

How does he swallow so easily

when his absence is a lump in their throats?

How does he laugh with friends,

walk freely through his days,

make plans, chase pleasures,

rest his head on a pillow at night

without hearing the echoes

of small voices that once called him “Dad”?

How does he sleep?

Under Questions Without Answers

You left without a reason I could hold,

no final words, no door to close,

just silence where laughter used to live

and memories that replay when I’m alone.

I miss the way we could turn nothing into stories,

how time bent around our conversations,

how life felt lighter

just knowing you were somewhere in it.

There were shadows too 

moments where words cut sideways,

where envy wore a familiar face,

where I felt small standing next to you.

And I won’t pretend those parts didn’t hurt.

But friendship isn’t made of perfect days.

It’s made of history.

Of showing up.

Of knowing someone deeply enough

to see both their light and their storms.

I wish we had more time to grow past the hard parts.

I wish I...

Lost and apologetic

Lost, But Still Here

Somewhere between who I was

and who I’m supposed to be,

I lost the map.

Every turn feels like

the wrong street,

every choice feels like

a door I shouldn’t have opened.

I replay moments like broken songs,

wondering where I went off rhythm,

wondering why I can’t seem

to get it right.

I watch the world move forward

while I stand still 

smiling in photos,

breaking in silence.

People grow, people glow,

people become everything

they said they would be.

And me?

I feel like a name

written in pencil

on the edge of someone else’s story.

Sometimes I feel forgotten,

like a message left on read,

like a seat saved

for some...