Here I am, waiting again. This quiet room feels more and more like a space between breaths — a pause that stretches longer each day. Am I just an echo now? A whisper you strain to hear over the noise of everything else that's louder, more pressing? You missed our time again. Lost in another universe where I can’t follow.

“Soon, it won’t be an issue, because I’m quitting.”

And so, I wait. I keep my ears alert for the ping of any message that used to feel like a heartbeat. I wait, clinging to old messages that feel like lifelines. My time is like a candle burning at both ends, while you hog yours like a timekeeper who stuck with the root words of his title. Am I a fading obsession? an ending phase? I feel like a dog-ear in a book you got bored of reading.

“Soon, it won’t be an issue, because I’m quitting.”

Oh, but an old flame’s words seem to weigh more than your promise; my patience outweighs both of those combined. Hence, I shall spend the time you asked me to spend with you, watching you spend your time for us with others.