𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 '𝟖𝟕

ⅵ. broken clocks

"EPISODE 6"
june 29, 1987

"am i– am i just a distraction to you?" i mumbled, too scared, too weak; though not of him.

his eyes flickered up to mine and my heart blossomed.

"a kiss here, a touch there and it's enough for you to push away all your problems?" i continued with newfound confidence.

he paused for a moment, then asked, "where is this coming from?"

i ignored him and fixed my gaze on wilted roses, a gift from him, that were bent with age.

"you don't care about your own feelings, at least be considerate of mine," i told
him, my voice soft but my tone distinct.

he looked at me for a good two minutes– maybe less, but it didn't matter.

it was known to me that time became nothing short of an illusion when i was with him.

he entwined his fingers with mine and pressed his lips gingerly against my knuckles.

he treated me as if i were one of those dead roses, fragility evident through the way the stem arched and the petals hung.

"i'm sorry, my little clementine, i didn't mean to hurt you," he spoke, each word fluid like silk and laced with serenity.