Ticking in My Pocket

Wonderland gives us the perfect lens: a world where the surreal makes sense, where rules bend, and where missing someone feels like a ticking sound you can’t quite ignore.

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I saw the Cheshire cat again today, but only his eyes and a bit of his grin,

hovering like a giggle you’re not supposed to let out in class,

and he said curiouser things than even I could dream before breakfast.

There’s a ticking sound in my pocket that no one else can hear,

not a clock exactly, more like a heart with laces and buttons,

and it gets louder whenever I think about you not sitting beside me.

I peered through the keyhole where the wallpaper breathes and the shadows eat toast,

and I swear I saw your shoelace moving through the leaves like a question I forgot to ask out loud.

I don’t want tea or cake or riddles wrapped in sugar today,

I only want the moment where you turn and see me again,

because Wonderland is wide and silly and full of things that vanish too fast.

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