I kept checking the time like the night was a tunnel

Dear Delyara, 8:12. 8:26. 8:41. 9:03. I wasn’t late for anything. I wasn’t waiting for anything dramatic. I just wanted the evening to move in a clear direction, and it wasn’t. It felt shapeless and emotionally slow, the kind of night where you’re too tired to begin anything properly but not tired enough to vanish cleanly into sleep. So I checked the time as if time itself might reassure me. As if enough minutes passing would make the inside settle into a more understandable state. It didn’t. But it told me something: I wasn’t really watching the clock. I was trying to feel held by sequence.