Clockwork

77.

Hush now, let us feel the silence for a little while. Can you feel the heart beat? It radiates and colours these four walls.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

We are clockwork beings. Gears churning in our busy heads, springs of coiled energy impatient in fists and feet. There is iron running through our veins.

The human time is ephemeral, a root for fear. There is a people scurrying to outlive the countdown, outpace the stopwatch. Herbs and spices they employ, incantations and surgical knives will another seek.

There are three types of people in the world. Those who take deep calculated breaths, or those who are trying to catch them, or those who lose them.

And I am caught somewhere in between the three.

While it can be terrifying to see each person’s motor become undone in due time, borrow a little of that time to touch the silence.

Despite the changing of seasons, even the falling of autumn leaves will make the fearful realise that quiet dance of the clock is one to love.

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