a broken watch

The sun comes up just as I make it through another night. There is not a moment to waste on rest. I am restless. I remember when I used to know which day it was, but I can’t remember how long it has been. I check my watch to see what time it is. Hands point to 2 and 10 without a differentiation between am and pm. Hands always point to 2 and 10 here, but the time doesn’t matter where it stands still.

I think about a fixed point in time. I think about when I decided to move. The decision was finalized with a security deposit; $3,000 is too much to throw away, so I’d have to spend another $50,000 to cut my losses. Every moment after that point was a cost to be sunk. Every moment after that point was in the interim. The decision had been made, but the plans were not in play, and the clock still pointed to 2 and 10 while I prepared to begin again.

I began again. Not everything changes when everything changes: there are remnants tangled to form what lasts. I piled my remnants in my car and drove with them as the sun set, arriving in a new home as the sun, once again, rose. It would be symbolic, but it is only what is true. I am cursed to only tell the truth. I reflect all of the imagery as it plays its proper part, but it is only ever true.

I reflect. The sky is a little bit bigger in the south, than it is where I am from, but the stars are still snuffed out by smog in the city. The people are the same, but the faces are unfamiliar, that is, except for one. The hands on my watch point to 2 and 10, precise in their consistency, to remind me of all that stays the same even though the days are different.

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