Five Minutes

The wall clock reads 11:47.

My phone reads 11:52.

Five minutes between—I'm confused.

I don't know which one's right.

I haven't corrected it.

Three days now, and every night

I'm caught between two times, two truths.

Every time I check,

I see both numbers.

The wall clock ticking, reckless.

The phone counting seconds, numberless.

Neither one matches.

Which one keeps the real time?

Which one's true? Which one's mine?

It feels like there are two realities,

two versions of when,

two different certainties,

and I'm caught between them.

When I try to sleep,

I think about it.

The five-minute gap.

The uncertainty that's crept

into my life.

Am I late?

Am I early?

Am I on time?

I don't know.

I haven't corrected either clock.

I've been living with the shock,

checking both,

hoping one would change.

But the gap stays.

Five minutes. Always five minutes.

Persistent and strange.

And I don't know

which one is wrong,

which one's been wrong all along.