Watch

My watch is watching me waste my time. I don’t look at it enough. The glass is scuffed up but sits on a beautiful silver and black submarine. I can dive to ocean floor, ears bleeding, and it would still be ticking away. Another second floats away; another bubble floats to shore.

I see it’s relentlessly ahead—thirty minutes into the future. As it chugs along, never stopping for even a moment, I’m reminded of the time I just gained with this glimpse. Then I wind the handle and set it straight. My alacrity subsides as I sync it to real time. It keeps going, slowly getting ahead again.
I’d have to break it for time to stop. But it won’t.

I’m not peaking at the present. I’m watching it vanish with every tick.
The pendulum swings back and forth, to and fro, like my lack of balance, one toe in the future, another in the past. The watch is on my wrist, not my hand; I don’t have a grip on the present. I suffer in a timeline that I will never reach.