The time on the wall

The time on the wall stood still watching us as though it had nothing else to do. It was waiting around collecting up all the seconds of our meeting where we had nothing to say to each other, you’d somehow found a moment in your diary where you could come and find me To say nothing to me; you’d deliberately scratched out a day with your disintegrating pen where you
Would have the time to tell me nothing. But the nothing said everything that you didn’t want to say.

Your refusal to speak screamed out our previous five years of silence. You played a game with your hands as though you were trying to figure out what they were for. The time on the wall reached out and said Four O’clock as it was sighing about the fact that it had to do something it had done a million times before. You synchronised your stay with me to end as it struck four, and leave me and my life as the time on the wall ended another hour for me, your hands changed from their game and picked up your bag and left. Now I was left with the time on the wall waiting for another hour to be over. This time the hour was without you.