Tick
Hauntingly beautiful day, one of those sunsets which linger in the monsoon, bathing the trees in a golden glow and the cool breeze laden with promises of petrichor. Last box of memories out from the attic, she thinks, as she wipes her grimy hands on her black dress and searches its contents. As the canticle fades away with the last of the eulogies in the lawn, she is left holding a simple watch with worn out leather straps, the watch glass frosted at the rim.
Tock
She sits, watching from a distance. Trying to read people, warily, juggling between being the cynosure of the gathering and indulging her heart with the quiet it longed for. Never alone, but always lonely. She searches for a diversion and slips away unnoticed, clutching her watch. Half past noon, on its familiar, seemingly eternal face. Such a paradoxical illusion. Makes you feel you have forever, yet doesn't prepare you for when your thread of time is severed before you can blink. The presence of which comforts you and simultaneously terrifies you.
Tick
Live your life, they said. Find who you are. Spend some time with your soul. Feel the air skip lightly from strand to strand of your hair, enjoy the woody, smoky spice it brings with it. In return, it takes back an untold story in whispers, like a little secret. With a twinkle in its eye, it says that this wondrous tale was between her and the road, and her and the road alone.
Midnight, calls out her watch, and she stops the car. Lies down on the cool grass and traces her own hitchhiking map across the galaxy. Smiles, laughs and falls asleep.
Tock
Sometimes when your anger blends with your isolation, it suffocates you. Sitting in the corner, wet face, thinking and rethinking those icy exchanges and angry altercations. Was it her fault? Why was it always her fault? Her knees draw in closer, as if tempting her with a warm hug. The embers die without so much of a crackle, watching her carefully. Once in a while, they exhaled with all the energy left in them to produce one lively spark to cheer her up. The spark dances, spins but doesn't catch her attention. Sleep, another day to drag yourself through, she thinks. I don't pretend, I bear, I don't give up that easy.
Her graying hair gleams, the embers sigh. Just nine 'o' clock this time.
Tick
The world freezes, except a distant voice, a distant face, frantically trying to rouse her from her stupor and she lay still, as still as her train of thought which had stopped taking its wild trips down imagination's beautiful city. Her head shifted gently to the side, as she saw all the old pictures on her desk, twelve years seem so short right now. There was one after her first promotion, the one she gave up having a family for, and one with that old woman who kindly made her tea when she had a cold and never came back to meet her again. She smelled bagels, and remembered her morning coffee, freshly ground with half a bagel. Just how she liked it. And the little girl, with her fresh, young,hopeful face, delivering her bread and helping her mother. Always wished her a good day.
Tick tock, tick tock
A peaceful smile on her face. Her eyes, close. Somewhere, the breeze carries with it another story. The tale of how the frosted watch glass, finally broke.
Hauntingly beautiful day, one of those sunsets which linger in the monsoon, bathing the trees in a golden glow and the cool breeze laden with promises of petrichor. Last box of memories out from the attic, she thinks, as she wipes her grimy hands on her black dress and searches its contents. As the canticle fades away with the last of the eulogies in the lawn, she is left holding a simple watch with worn out leather straps, the watch glass frosted at the rim.
Tock
She sits, watching from a distance. Trying to read people, warily, juggling between being the cynosure of the gathering and indulging her heart with the quiet it longed for. Never alone, but always lonely. She searches for a diversion and slips away unnoticed, clutching her watch. Half past noon, on its familiar, seemingly eternal face. Such a paradoxical illusion. Makes you feel you have forever, yet doesn't prepare you for when your thread of time is severed before you can blink. The presence of which comforts you and simultaneously terrifies you.
Tick
Live your life, they said. Find who you are. Spend some time with your soul. Feel the air skip lightly from strand to strand of your hair, enjoy the woody, smoky spice it brings with it. In return, it takes back an untold story in whispers, like a little secret. With a twinkle in its eye, it says that this wondrous tale was between her and the road, and her and the road alone.
Midnight, calls out her watch, and she stops the car. Lies down on the cool grass and traces her own hitchhiking map across the galaxy. Smiles, laughs and falls asleep.
Tock
Sometimes when your anger blends with your isolation, it suffocates you. Sitting in the corner, wet face, thinking and rethinking those icy exchanges and angry altercations. Was it her fault? Why was it always her fault? Her knees draw in closer, as if tempting her with a warm hug. The embers die without so much of a crackle, watching her carefully. Once in a while, they exhaled with all the energy left in them to produce one lively spark to cheer her up. The spark dances, spins but doesn't catch her attention. Sleep, another day to drag yourself through, she thinks. I don't pretend, I bear, I don't give up that easy.
Her graying hair gleams, the embers sigh. Just nine 'o' clock this time.
Tick
The world freezes, except a distant voice, a distant face, frantically trying to rouse her from her stupor and she lay still, as still as her train of thought which had stopped taking its wild trips down imagination's beautiful city. Her head shifted gently to the side, as she saw all the old pictures on her desk, twelve years seem so short right now. There was one after her first promotion, the one she gave up having a family for, and one with that old woman who kindly made her tea when she had a cold and never came back to meet her again. She smelled bagels, and remembered her morning coffee, freshly ground with half a bagel. Just how she liked it. And the little girl, with her fresh, young,hopeful face, delivering her bread and helping her mother. Always wished her a good day.
Tick tock, tick tock
A peaceful smile on her face. Her eyes, close. Somewhere, the breeze carries with it another story. The tale of how the frosted watch glass, finally broke.
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