The Exact Pause

The clock hands crawled, a slow, dull grace,

across the face of painted wood.

I watched the dust motes hold their place,

precisely where the sunlight stood.

No buzz, no chime, no sudden sound,

just furniture absorbing light.

My phone lay dark, upon the ground,

a silent, unresponsive sight.

Each breath I took, a measured thing,

the air itself felt strangely dense.

No message came, no words to bring,

just this profound, heavy suspense.

The absence pressed, a solid wall,

a quietness that seemed to cling.

I felt the gravity of all

the hours that were not happening.