Tim Morten

‚Sekundentakt‘ (inspired by Montez) I’ve known them so long that I don’t remember when we stopped choosing each other and started just… being there. We grew into this friendship the way people grow into habits—quietly, without noticing, until it’s impossible to imagine the day without it. They’ve been sleeping badly since the breakup. I can hear it in their voice, see it in the way they stare at nothing for too long. Work’s killing them too. Deadlines, pressure, the kind of stress that doesn’t explode but slowly eats through you. I don’t comment on any of it. I just show up. I always have. Coffee in the morning, silence when they need it, dumb comments when things get too heavy. Time moves differently when I’m around them. Slower. Measured. Like every second matters more than the last. Tonight, they’re sitting across from me, knees pulled up, eyes glassy. They try to joke it off, but then it happens—one tear, slipping down their cheek, because of him. The ex. The past. Whatever still has claws in them. I don’t say anything. I never do. I just watch their lips move when they tell me it’ll be okay. And I believe them. Every time. What I don’t admit—what sits sharp and ugly in my chest—is how something in me loses control when they cry over someone who isn’t me. I don’t want to own them. I don’t want to save them. I just want the seconds to stop ticking like this, while I pretend that standing this close doesn’t mean more than it’s supposed to. (28, 6‘1, image from Pinterest)