The Space Between Time

Time fattens when we wait,
and starves when we’re the cause.
Between what’s sent and what is seen,
expectation writes the laws.

The clock swings slow between two minds
one pleading, one at ease.
Both call it care, but what they send
are offerings to appease.

Part I — The One Who Waits

I sent my thoughts across the wires,
they vanished in the air.
The seconds built their scaffold up
and left me hanging there.

I counted all the empty clicks,
they sounded like a vow.
The minutes turned and asked of me,
“You’re waiting, even now.”

The day grew stiff with messages
that no one thought to send.
I learned that silence has a shape
that never marks the end.

The window showed another hour;
it didn’t show a sign.
Each task I touched began to blur,
still tethered to your line.

Part II — The One Who Delays

I meant to answer soon enough,
but meaning slipped away.
Time thinned where thought began to speak,
then vanished with the day.

I watch the message half-composed,
then let the moment fade.
The mind says wait; the clock agrees
two liars, well arrayed.

The busy hour forgives itself;
the idle hour counts the cost.
I planned to act, deferred the task,
and watched momentum lost.

Each day I think, it’s not too late,
and make the waiting mine.
The thought was sent, but not the sign
intent is no design.

The Time Between

One counts each second sharpened bright,
the other drifts through haze.
The clock swings slow between their minds
two halves of the same phrase.

In that space between all time,
where the moment starts to slow,
one measures minutes as they fall,
the other lets them go.