Watch Your Thyme Comments

Watch how they come. watch how they go. You are golden and we are ticking. Your hand touches the cold pane as the drops descend with disdain; like they know your pain. A compass points to north, with every sole brings no remorse. you watch how the numbers merge into one. Watch.Watch.Watch.

Two clocks tick, the runaway bride listens; she turns her head and stops.
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