I stare at broken bits of springs and gears. A brass shell tarnished and green. Maybe if I look at the pieces long and hard enough, they'll assemble themselves. Telekinesis externalized. Pieces sewing themselves together like a film played in reverse.
A metaphor unto itself for my disassembled unwinding clock.
I turned the winding-widget too hard and too violently in the name of the virtue of progress. Instead of rewinding the days, months and years, all I did was set the timestamp to a date that hasn't happened. My love made old. My body made deformed. My aspirations made rotten and my discipline made inert.
9:09 p.m. - 2014-10-13
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