Catching the clock (freewrite)
freewrite·@honeydue·
0.000 HBDCatching the clock (freewrite)
She's read the words many times over and it's never enough, the sounds no longer form in her head, and she just imagines the noises the words would make, were she to read them out loud. How long ago did she find the document, she wonders? Has it been five minutes or two months? To be honest, it could be either, as she has learned the whole thing by heart, as if she was born knowing it. Maybe she wasn't, but he definitely was. As he wrote his sad farewell, the words poured out of him and into the page, filling the air around him and the house, long after he'd gone. The girl, who'll soon become a woman, buckles under the pain and bites down hard on her trembling lip. Maybe that can save her. Or perhaps nothing can. Things happen. And for no clear reason, and sometimes for the best in the world. Her fist crumples the paper and turns it into small, insignificant pieces, scattered across the white wood floor. She doesn't need these words no more. In fact, she'd do anything to erase them from her head. But she can't now. They're forever stuck in there. Screaming and echoing at themselves, in the silence desert of her mind. The worst part is she knows why he left. She tries to tell herself she does not, but we both know that's a lie. He left because of the way she used to bite lips, not her own. He left because of one entangled summer, where she found herself in the glorious heat, not alone. And because he found her too.  Her hands lapsed on the clock on the wall and she threw it at him, yelling, crying. He was not supposed to be there. And he tried, as he could, to catch the clock flying from her hands and to calm her from her upset. He never meant to hurt her and it was only a happening of chance that he showed up when he did. If he could, he would've gladly gone back in his day, knowing what he did know, to prevent himself from finding out. Even if it would've been all pretend. He'd made her so angry and he never wanted that. The old man understood that the woman could not be trusted. Or blamed. He understood, after all, her desire for companionship, since he was young once, too. But she couldn't accept that and she allowed herself to be torn apart by guilt and anger and the immense sadness in her heart, thinking she'd hurt him. And no matter how hard he tried, the old man could not make her happy or come close to her again. He would've liked to, but she chose to isolate herself on her island of despair and reproach. Alone. The old man found this very unfair, for her to be condemned to an eternity of loneliness and for what, for desiring someone? For doing something that was in her nature? It hurt the old man to watch his beloved torture herself like that. And even more so, knowing that he was somehow to blame, too. And he could not change things. So, the old man put his hat on and left, hoping that perhaps she'd become happy again. That's the thing, you see, sometimes you can't catch the clock, no matter how much you'd like to. #### Freewrite from the prompt 'document'. Check out @mariannewest or the @freewritehouse for more :) *[Image](https://pixabay.com/en/man-person-people-walking-outdoors-3309253/)* <center>Also, don't forget to read the latest posts from our new page</center><center>*FREEWRITE HOUSE*!</center> <center>[](https://steemit.com/@freewritehouse) <center><sub>Click the graphic to join in the fun!</sub></center><div id="DAB4FAD8-2DD7-40BB-A1B8-4E2AA1F9FDF2"><br /> <table style="border-top: 1px solid #D3D4DE;"> <tr> ### Thank you for reading, .jpeg)  