Grimly, she realized that clocks don't make a sound that even remotely resembles ticking, tocking. It was more the sound of a hammer, upside down, hacking methodically at the earth. It was the sound of a grave.
My own eyes try to sleep, but they don't. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.
She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.
It is early, early morning. It's that time when it's still dark but you know the day is coming. Blue is bleeding through black. Stars are dying.
It makes me wonder, Do we spend most of our days trying to remember or forget things? Do we spend most of our time running towards or away from our lives? I don't know.
Time will tell, I suppose, or at least, these pages will.
It's funny, don't you think, how time seems to do a lot of things? It flies, it tells, and worst of all, it runs out.