Clock

Tick-tock.

It's the sound of a clock. Counting down every second we live, everything we do and each precise second we do it.

It's the sound that kept you the day you were born, the sound that will merit even the day of your passing.

It's the sound that kept you from being late this morning, it's the sound that you hang on everytime the day is through.

It's the sound you live by, everyday, and you might not even know it.

In every single second holds a moment. A precious fragment in time that might have been forgotten, but whose taste is still on the tip of the mind's tongue. Wavering and threatening to fade, but still lingering. Still everlasting.

Your every tear lies on the ticking of the clock. Your every fall. Your every sorrow.

But so does your every triumph, your every flight, your every joy.

Like the slow, constant dripping of water is the rhythimic, unfailing pulse of the clock.

Everything happens in time. All we have to do is wait.