The Clock That Stopped at Dawn
Time Died the Morning You Left
The clock in the hallway
stopped ticking at dawn—
4:47 a.m.,
the same minute your breath faded
into the folds of morning light.
It wasn’t broken the night before.
I remember
because I couldn’t sleep,
watched its second hand tremble
like it was afraid to move forward
without you.
Now it just stares.
Silent.
Frozen.
Like time itself recoiled
at the thought of moving on.
I haven’t fixed it.
Won’t.
Because some moments
should stay unmoving—
the world already spins
too fast without you in it.
That morning, the sun
rose like it didn’t know
what it was rising for.
Birdsong felt blasphemous.
Even the kettle hissed too loudly
in the kitchen where your cup
sat untouched.
Grief is a strange thief.
It doesn’t steal everything at once.
It leaves the shoes by the door,
the impression in the pillow,
the grocery list you meant to finish.
It hides in ordinary things.
And that damn clock—
it holds the heaviest silence of all.
Sometimes,
when I pass it in the hallway,
I whisper your name
like it’s the only sound
that might start time again.
But it never moves.
Just listens,
as if it, too,
misses the sound
of your footsteps.
One day, someone will visit,
ask why the clock is stuck.
And I’ll say,
“That’s when the world paused
for a heartbeat too long.”
Because love doesn’t leave
without taking
a little time with it.
And some mornings,
4:47 still feels
like forever.
About the Creator
Rahul Sanaodwala
Hi, I’m the Founder of the StriWears.com, Poet and a Passionate Writer with a Love for Learning and Sharing Knowledge across a Variety of Topics.
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Comments (1)
This is some powerful writing. The description of the clock really hits home. It makes me think of how small things can carry so much meaning. Have you ever had an object that held a special significance after someone was gone? I wonder how long it'll take for the world to feel "right" again without that person.