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Sometimes I hear the clock tick,
sometimes I don’t.

Other times,
it ticks so loud,
louder than heartbeats rushing.

Whenever I’m alone
in a quiet room,
in a room other than my own,
in your room,
in a room other than our own,
I keep shutting out time,
I stare at the stark white walls
and those glossy glass panes that arrest
the solid state of our viscous words.

Haven’t you noticed?
Time seems to unfold too slowly at the start,
at the very start where seconds stretch like minutes
and minutes stretch like hours,
towards the end,
it chases us like a mad unknown
to the finish line that we never actually reach.

Before we run out of time and sand,
If only for you, I shall never finish this piece,
I’ll offer you madly a heartbeat’s skip,
as if a single beat in time will never cease.