There was no ticking sound, no countdown. The clock simply stood, its hands moving at their own pace. It didn’t measure hours or minutes. Instead, it captured moments—the little things people forgot to notice. A glance, a laugh, a sigh. These were the seconds the clock remembered. They weren’t ordinary moments, either. They were the ones that changed people, the quiet shifts that altered the course of their lives, even when they didn’t realize it.
Beneath the Weight of Stillness
The silence was not empty but dense, like fog made of forgotten thoughts. It clung to walls and windows, humming low like a memory too shy to speak. In that stillness, every sound became sacred — the creak of a chair, the breath between words. Nothing moved, yet everything pulsed quietly with meaning, waiting to be heard.
Hands That Turned in Reverse
The clock’s hands didn’t spin forward. They moved backward, slowly unwinding everything that had happened. It was as if the clock was trying to undo what was irreversible. People came to watch it, mesmerized by the possibility that they could rewind time, even if it was only in small, secret ways. The clock never offered answers; it only reminded people of the things they had lost, and in doing so, it allowed them to mourn, to remember.
Time isn’t lost. It’s simply waiting for you to find it again.
Moments that Never Left
What the clock measured wasn’t something that could be put into words. The moments weren’t forgotten. They lived in the space between the ticks and tocks, in the memories that sat in the quiet. People would leave, but the moments would remain, woven into the fabric of time itself. Each person who visited the clock left with a piece of time that was never quite theirs. It was borrowed, a fleeting moment that carried weight.
