As Time Goes By

He was made from the broken moon and fallen stars. His voice was of honey gold, dripping into the cracks of my soul and repairing every frozen hole. The twinklings ran by as though they were keen on lasting years. I sit here and ponder the dormant needles of the timepiece that sat on the wall, moving my feet to the cadence of its beats. I thought of everything—everything we had told each other, everything we had yet still to tell. It filled me with a feeling of fear but also, an odd eagerness, as though destiny summoned me and begged for an answer. Is it serendipity, darling, that brought us together? Are we only doing serendipity's will? The sentiments envelop me as I slowly age and then, after half an hour, I feel so old I can barely stand it. I must get up and shake myself. I stride about the office, as though my body were a locomotive for my train of thought. It is foolish, I think. He is just tinkering with me. He likes to have a doll for his own pastime, I know it. What use is joining his game? What good would it do? I have seen love, and it is banal. I ask you, is it truly an option? But then... if he does love me... if, desire against desire, against all odds, somehow, someway. Ah, but what is there to say? To do? And why? Above all, I must learn... if he is toying with me, if he is a monster. For we all know, monsters conceal themselves best in other people. But, I ask you, is it really an option...? I can't wait to tell him! Then, possibly, seeing my apprehension, time will stop. And time will clasp still and move on, eventually, letting me go from its insidious clutches, until, instructed by the leverage of my craving, it will transmute into him. Him, appearing from around the nook, to welcome me. And, as I am writing this letter, I feel another minute has passed... there goes another year.