Twelve O'clock

I love the feeling of crying. I hate the reasons. As the warm tears roll down my cheeks like children roll down a hill I concentrate on something else to distract my mind. My clock. It's 11:54 (pm). I watch the temperature. 24.4*C. Two degrees down. One up. 11:55. I sigh and, as soon as I stop concentrating on my clock the tears come thick and fast. By the time it's slowed it's 11:59, 24.1*C. I cry out realizing the day is about to end. I want to stop time, to hold on to today, the last day that my sister breathed. 12:00