i sit at the desk, with a book of memories before me. the words etched in ink on the pale yellow paper brought back visions and voices of events long past. a clock sat elsewhere on the table, with its complex inner workings and mechanisms ticking away. i marvel at the beauty of its complexity, with a thousand over tiny pieces turning and clicking, accurately keeping time. i turn the knob on the back of its face, and its hands rotate around the central axis. counter clockwise they went, for minutes, hours, days, weeks, months. i sit and turn the clock backwards, until i finally stop. the place around me looks different. everything looks different to me. things were different back then. and it seemed like i viewed everything through glass. i walked to the place where we first met, and there i was on the couch, and there you were sitting opposite me. and i went on, where i was in bed, clutching my phone and texting you. and i moved on, to the times where i had your head to my chest and you were in tears. and i travelled further to when you were in the car with me, speeding down the highway. and when we were on the phone, talking about what to do about ourselves. alas, but now, i was nothing save for a casual observer, unable to change the past. and yet looking back, and seeing how things could've been so much better for us. i awake at my desk, only to find the clock back to its original time, ticking away. tick tock tick tock went the clock. and the future became the present, and the present became the past. and i looked on, as i had only the future to look to. whereas the past, the past remained forever etched on the book that lay before me, its words never changing, its lines ever staying. ...