They took the clocks away.
The clock that once hung at the focal point of the office, if such a thing even exists in a sea of drab cubicles, was removed, but my habit and inclination of looking at it remains. I find myself regularly looking up at its blank space, consistently checking to see where we might be at any given point in the day, and all I see is plain white wall, empty space. There is meaning in that. The universe is speaking through my fruitless searching, but what is being said I cannot quite decipher at this point.
The clock has been gone for months, maybe over a year at this point, and still I seek it out, still my eyes travel out of instinct and habit, and each time I almost catch myself as it’s happening. I know right before I scan the area that it’s not there, that it won’t be there, and yet I still look.
Perhaps time doesn’t want to be watched or measured so carefully.
