I was scrolling, not really looking for anything, just letting the feed move past me, when I saw this poem. I read it. It said:
The number of hours we have together is actually not so large.
And suddenly I wasn't just scrolling anymore.
It's such a simple thing, time, but here it is, framed in a way that makes it feel brutal. Time is slipping, running out. Not in some grand, tragic way — just in the way it always does.
Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving.
This line got me. I know this moment exactly. The way someone hesitates, unsure if they should go yet, or maybe they don't want to, or maybe they're waiting for you to say something to stop them. The way a goodbye stretches into something that isn't quite a goodbye yet.
And then the last part — Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it. That's it, isn't it? The whole human condition, boiled down to one request: leave something behind, so you have a reason to return. Make an excuse to come back. Pretend you meant to.
I don't know why this hit me the way it did, but it did. I wasn't expecting it. I was just scrolling.