When I was away,

the clock stopped.

At a number aligned with the night,

past the most radiant stroke of midnight,

before dawn could arrive —

it came to un abrupt halt.

They say I was born

at such a mark in time :

having left the darkness,

yet not entered the light.

I do not know before

it stopped, what turns

it had quietly made,

what circles it had traveled.

The two hands pointed

to 2 and 8 —

houses in an astrological chart,

set opposite one another.

There is another number.

That one. is mine

Since I was young,

it has ruled over me like a god

teaching me that above my head

there will always be a firmament

I can never walk beyond

The shades of grey in my life

come from there

Joy wrapped by the desolation of silence

is broken at the lightest touch

Yet tears so sorrow wash hopes brighter and

brighter, until I have grown into a child

who visits bones beneath the sun,

searches for a home in the vastness,

and dredges keys from the ruins.

I believe in this number

more than I trust myself.

I cannot see it,

yet it is everywhere

I keep it constantly in mind

and submit to it.

I know there is a hope within me

that will never be fulfilled.

And so,

with the currency of disappointments

I had saved for years,

I bought myself

an entrance ticket to the human world.

Included in the price

were two batteries.

Because of them,

the numbers on the clock

will once again

become time

2026.9