Quality time is timed in minutes we can't get back, laughter echoing like ghosts in rooms that no longer feel like home. It was never measured in hours, but in the spaces between them- the car rides, the late-night whispers, the way you used to wait for me to speak. Now the clock moves without mercy, ticking past hands we no longer hold, past the childhood we outgrew, past the love we swore would never fade.