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Time’s a-ticking Nikkita Pandey
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tick. tick. tick. the numbers on the clock fall; an increased effort paying no reward the: fireflies’ light, crickets’ chirp, crisp air’s smell— all of it a distraction: from the time slipping from our fingers, the words leaving our mouth— a trap, locking us in letting us assume it is plentiful but striking when least expected; our only source of wealth, with limited amounts given to all spent on futile memories, every single day adding to time lost— rewinding the clock slyly and gradually unbeknownst to how much longer it will pass the test of time before, like everything else, it passes its expiration hearing the last of the ticking until: its traces vanish its lovers leave its followers move on12 and its story is killed.
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