the time, that is. no, i didn't become a compulsive watch addict. i never knew what time it was.
except that time. i always knew when it was that time.
every night. it was always at night. in the morning it didn't have the same impact. at night, it was a casual glance at the clock, and then, timed stopped. or rather, my heart did. everything was quiet, still, and terrifying. people could be yelling and screaming at me, but for that one minute, i was in another world.
so you're thinking, something must have happened to her at that time. that's the logical explanation. but when i looked at the numbers, 11:17, i thought it's not a time. it's a date. and every cell in my body knew it. it was a date.
i denyed it. no, it was just a time. not a date something...happened. it couldn't be. i couldn't touch that. it was a time. it was the time i was born.
and it was. but when you think about being born, what kind of a feeling do you get? i don't think it's supposed to be a feeling of total dread, death, fear. it's supposed to be a happy feeling. you're not supposed to want to die every time you see the time you were born.
yeah, it was the time he died. but i'm not supposed to be afraid of that. i hate it yeah, but afraid? no.
and it's a fucking date. not a time. it can't be a time. but it takes the form of a time. but it was a date.
november seventeenth, nineteen eighty nine.
several things happened that night. life, drunkeness, love, rape, silence. Death. and it all happened to me.
it was probably at the Time too. that number had to be perfect. it had to match up. it couldn't just float around and find me. it couldn't give me any slack.
it had to hunt me down and drive its nails through my heart, over and over. it had to wait til the right time and get me with all the ironic pain it could give.
it wouldn't haunt me if it didn't.
if only i knew why.