The clock on the wall bears a weight Pattie does not quite like. She cannot stand the gentle peeling on its edges, its ugly numericals and stiff mechanical clucks.
She doesn’t throw it away, however, for she has respect for things that work just fine.
Today is different, the clock seems to say to her. It’s George’s disappearance anniversary: It’s been 20 years since he vanished.
“They always say time will tell,” Pattie tells the old clock sadly. Her cheeks are hollow, paved with the running of many old tears. They still burn the corners of her brown eyes.
But Time did try to tell her before. Pattie would fret about and busy herself, choosing to press through life ignorant of herself – she keeps saying that she is the sum of her memories, and so she lives on borrowed recollections, and time.
But today is different. 20 years stand staring back at her, mercilessly, from the old clock on the wall, and Pattie finally hears its faint voice. It has grown tired, too.
“I have tried to tell you;
but who am I?” Time whispers, softly and humbly. “We don’t help you erase or ease pain. We don’t retain memories, or life.”
“We don’t do anything… but obey the heart.”