Guilty

I called in sick.

I didn't go in.

Instead, I stayed in bed

and scrolled through my phone,

ignoring the emails,

ignoring the messages,

ignoring the guilt that came

exactly two minutes after I hung up.

The ceiling of my bedroom

is a place I know well.

The way the morning light moves across it,

slow and then fast,

depending on whether you're paying attention.

I paid attention.

My phone buzzed.

I didn't answer.

An hour passed. Or maybe it was thirty minutes.

Or maybe it was longer.

Time moves differently when you're stealing it.

I felt guilty and relieved

at the same time,

which is how I know

I'm doing something wrong

by just existing in my own time,

by just lying here

while the world is supposed to be happening

somewhere else.

The light moved across the ceiling.

The phone kept buzzing.

I didn't answer.

I didn't move.

I just lay there,

guilt and relief,

stealing an hour from a life

that wasn't even mine to steal from.