Tick-Tock

By Vanshika Vangani

I can't take the batteries out of my clocks and stop time, maybe it'll stop for me but it won't for you. You bought new batteries and a new clock and life went on for you. I stopped and stayed with the broken one, for a little longer. How could I just abandon the hands that had shown me all moments so utterly loving, so irreversibly mine that I was guaranteed that these shall be the only hands that concern me, the only clock I'll ever own. 

It sat so well with my sage-hued pillars and the rose gold statue that my mother gifted. As though it belonged, was crafted, created to be there, if only for as long as it did. And with each sun that rose I would look over to find you with the inevitable urge to touch my face and kiss my nose. It's almost as though you made me home in a place that's mine already. 

And as the darkness shines today through the skylight, on loop I think of another time, another clock. So far nothing has clicked like you. So far, no hands have felt as right as yours. So the wall, besides my television, is empty, awaiting a clock. The house feels complete, I suppose I don't miss the ticking as much as I thought I would. It's a wonderfully timeless life I've now taken.

By Vanshika Vangani