Ten minutes ago you had a goodbye text typed out, thumb hanging over send like a trigger you knew too well, Every line sounded final and childish and honest as hell, screaming out the secrets you promised not to tell, Screen went black, showed your face, eyes wrecked, jaw tight, and something in you muttered “not like this, not now,” You locked the phone, dropped it on the counter, grabbed a glass of water and wiped the sweat from your brow.
Ten minutes after 11, nothing looks different but you’re still here, that’s the whole wild thing, No angel, no message, just lungs that refused to clock out while your thoughts kept pulling the string, La la la, la la la, dum dum dum, your busted little heart still beating under your skin, Ten minutes after 11, no miracle, no credits, just a quiet fuck you to the urge to give in.
Ten minutes ago the sink full of dishes felt like proof you’d never be anything but tired and late and wrong, Now you’re rolling your sleeves up, running hot water, humming some dumb hook just to help the time move along, You’re not hopeful, not cured, not fixed, just a little less close to the edge than you were before, And sometimes that tiny shift, that single step back from the drop, is the whole damn war.
No choir, no spotlight, just you in socks on cold tile, humming nonsense to drown out the pull, La la la, la lalala, dum dum dum, ugly and off key and somehow full, If anybody asks where the real work lives, it’s in these stupid quiet minutes when you stay, When you whisper “not tonight, not like this,” and drag yourself one breath further away.
Final Chorus
Ten minutes after 11, nothing changed on paper, but you didn’t walk, you didn’t hit send, you didn’t break, That’s the kind of tiny, filthy miracle they never write on greeting cards, the kind only you can make, La la la, la la la, dum dum dum, heart still drumming in a body that refused to be done, Ten minutes after 11, still here, still pissed, still breathing – that’s the win, you stubborn one.