Beloved.
The world is still.
Waters are quiet.
And yet,
I can still hear the hands of a clock
ticking.
I can hear the wooden gears groaning
as they turn wearily
fitting into one another
and creaking.
The creaking hurts my ears.
Ears that have tried listening for so long.
Even when most things went silent.
They're starting to bleed.
All because they have been waiting to hear your footsteps.
