When the Day Feels Like an Echo

Some days don’t arrive.

They repeat.
Like the ghost of a bell
you’re not sure you heard,
but still check the window for.

You wake up,
and the sky is already tired.
The clock ticks
not forward,
but sideways.

You open your inbox
and find nothing
but yesterday
trying to start a conversation.

There is coffee,
but it tastes like memory.
There is noise,
but it hums in the key of gone.

And somewhere in that long stretch
of artificial light and recycled air,
you think of someone.
Or no one.
Or someone who used to be no one
until their absence took shape.

You wonder—
Did they ever sit in a day like this,
where everything
feels like it’s happened
already,
but differently?

Would they remember you,
not in the headline moments,
but in the filler scenes—
the hallway pause,
the lunch alone,
the rain that didn’t quite fall?

Maybe you were
just a whisper
in the acoustics of their life.
Still,
whispers carry
when the world is quiet enough.

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