The clock is too loud…

Much too loud indeed.

In a place that was once noisy & chaotic.  Now, save only the sounds of the clock, else silence reigns.

Loud.

The loudest clock ever.

Tick,

Tock.

Tick,

Tock.

I’m not really here either.  There’s a score of memories to which I’ve spread myself.

Tick,

Tock.

Wisps of memories to be honest.  Long conversations in bedroom.  Tick, Tock.  The window open.  Drapes blowing.  Tick, Tock.  It’s funny how that’s something you remember.  Yet the details of the conversations fade, leaving only impressions of happiness.  I wish the tick, tock of the clock had some meaning.

Tick,

Tock.

This moves me no where.  My not moving pushes me further from moving.

Tick,

Tock.

Tis such a final thing.  There is tick, after it there is not sufficient time to accomplish anything.  Then there is Tock.  The measurement by which you failed to accomplish anything.  The act of measuring the known amount is worthless.

Tick,

Tock.

Perhaps, I should measure it again – incase it changes.

Tick,

Tock.

The same.  Perhaps, I might change between the

Tick,

Tock.

Like a thick syrup slowly pouring over the edge of the counter, sunlight shining through it, illuminating the yellow & bronze hues in flecking patterns across the side of the golden varnished oak panel of the counter.  Is it oozing down or is the floor reaching up to meet it?

Tick,

Tock.

Is time stretching?  I almost wish it was time to sleep again.  I’ll need that sleep desperately the next day.

Tick,

Tock.

Did I already sleep too much?

Tick,

Tock.

Shall I sleep again?

Tick,

Loud.

Tick.

Clock.

Loud.

I know it’s meter, but it’s much too loud.

Tick,

Tock.

Goes the clock.

 

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