But what always reminded me of my place was what sat in the center of his chest. It was a broken clock. Distorted and warped. The bottom of it was crumbling, and a bleeding human heart had fallen through the hole. A hand held it up, crushing it while it struggled to beat. My throat nearly closed off as I looked at where its fractured hands were forever stuck at five o’ four. A moment in time that had marked him. Scarred him. Destroyed him. A time that had crushed me, too, though I doubted he truly knew how deeply it had.
