The hours blur—
    clocks ticking in whispers
    beneath the weight of deadlines

    and tasks piled high.

Her office hums with the rhythm
    of routines and expectations.

My own world spins faster,
    carrying the weight of two.

And somewhere between
    meetings and emails,
    plans and problems,

    the words slip away—
                        unspoken,
                        unwritten.

Held captive
    by time that feels borrowed,
    never ours.

Silence stretches long,
    not empty,
    but heavy,

    a reservoir of thoughts too tired to surface.

I think of the things I wanted to say,
    small notes of connection,
    anchors to the current.

But the tide of busy days
    carries them far,
    leaving me with only
    fragmented echoes—

    a half-formed sentence here,
        a fleeting thought there.

Still, I hold on to the promise
    of quieter moments,
    when Stolen Words return,
    untangled and free,

    and find their place between us once more.