Time ticks by slowly, then all at once, speeding by, disappearing into a blur. I want to smash it, the time on the wall, leave nothing but shards of minutes and moments on the hard wood floor. I've had enough of it, enough of time, enough of its reminder of just how long we have been gone. Oh and the calendar, with its slick pages of dreamy photographs, and all those tidy boxes to check off and count, I'd like to rip it to shreds. Tear each page haphazardly, ignoring the perforations, scarring my fingertips in paper cuts in the process. The sting distracts me, turns my attention away briefly, giving me tiny drops of blood to focus on instead of the memory of your face.
Patterns shift and change :: Flash Writing
The Sound of your voice :: Flash Writing