Everyone else's timing has a way of feeling like the correct one the replies you're "late" on, the pace you're "behind" at, the version of a week everyone else seems to be living in.

asynchronous pulse. hand-embroidered, every letter black except pulse, stitched in red. Not because it ends the thought. Because it's the one word in the sentence that was never going to match anyone else's rhythm anyway.

for the person whose clock was never actually broken, it was just never running on someone else's time.