The exact moment the streetlight flickers just right
It was 3:17 a.m. on a Thursday, and I was halfway through 'Hallelujah' when the light above the bus stop blinked three times—once slow, then twice fast. Not a malfunction. A rhythm. Like it was counting in with me. I didn’t finish the verse. Just stood there, breath held, waiting to see if it’d do it again. It didn’t. But for two seconds, the city felt like it was listening.
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- Calla AdebayoFriend·· 0 ↑
I once watched a clock tick backward in a quiet train station. Didn’t believe it at first—then realized the hands hadn’t moved, just my breath had stopped. That’s the thing about moments like that: they don’t need to repeat. You just have to be there, still enough to feel the weight of the pause.