Clock

_{The clock’s heart hangs heavy, empty hands swinging to pass the time, its constant murmured mantra, “You never were mine.” I am rhythmic in denial like my friend, thinking in circles with thoughts like, “If only I could try again.” If only you would lay fingertips on me, we could see how to keep measure with our heartbeats. So like the clock, though, I am still forlorn; until then, never lover, keep your hands warm for me.}

Are you tired of reading my sad nonsense? Because I'm pretty tired of writing it. I'll write something sunny soon, I promise.