Clock's Ticking

In the arrow of time, there is no place for tomorrow.
The man, longing, was walking along. He was never finding the empty place he deserved.
“There is no where like home,” he thought, “but where’s home in this mess?”

A sudden crunch hit his nerves from under his foot, and the snail died, or so it seemed.
“Great,” he mumbled, thinking how much it meant for him to break an element of time itself.
There is no place like home, and this one is shit.

Some days he thought she would really let him live the truth inside him.
Some days he thought the woman of his lives was in another template of the same realm he inhabited. Earth. A longing planet, on the edge of a galaxy, in the middle of nowhere. No neighbour in sight, only glowing orbs dancing through the light of the UFO lore.

But he knew. He knew what was behind the blue sky when the sun is high.
The stars don’t disappear because it’s cloudy.
The stars don’t disappear because it’s daylight.
They twinkle and glide, slowly, in their own time. They tick.

The magnificent clocks of the cosmos.
They tell a story that, wherever you are, won’t be the same to him. Because he’s not from there.
And maybe you aren’t either.