The numbers in front of me, merge together..
They make sense and they dont
For the meaning I seek, can not be found there.
I identify with the broken clock on the wall,
Stuck like me in a time,
Perhaps hoping to never lose what has already been
A lost cause..
Could I freeze those moments forever?
The tired glances,
the furtive whispers
The seemingly endless conversations
I watch the bubble form, slow but sure
Have i become a taxidermist now?
One that mummifies memories
Holding on to something,
That would otherwise decay effortlessly..
What is fate?
Or the inevitable decay?