on this day.

the clock stopped working after that.

v. THE CLOCK STOPPED WORKING AFTER THAT.

time.

watching the mechanical hands tick quietly, longing the wait of hitting midnight just so they can meet once again. the white and black, they contrast each other well.
hollow wood, carvings of meaningless nothings, listening as the humming bird pops out, obnoxiously letting you know that it's time. time for what? time to be late to this meeting, time to shower for you haven't done it in a while, time to write. time to listen to the same song, swearing you'll never grow old of it yet you change it an hour later. time to think back, three am, you want to die. time to run a bath, hope it soothes the battle wounds that have rotted over. feel the steam rise off the cold marble, reminisce on the cracks that look all too much like the finger lakes. sit in the kitchen on the only stool you have left, don't blink or else you'll miss it. finding time to call you seems impossible, time never stops for you and i. looking under the bed, maybe in the closet. where is all this extra time you have found to be happy? did it take only minutes after leaving me to feel it burst through you like a bomb you never knew you held? how about hours? days? 

months have passed, time still moves on without you. it's time. time for what? time to sit down, in the only stool i have left, write a letter to the ones i have thought about. want to cry, but can't help feel anything less than numb. smile, watch the hands overlap one another for one last time. kick the stool over, swing to the loud obnoxious noise of the wooden bird.

continue to feel as empty as the clock itself.