Yasim Butler

Love is a Spectrum

"Ti-tick,” screams the clock on the wall nearest me. It is hard for “ti-tick tick-tick” me to focus on anything else. The clock is moving erratically, “ti-ti-tick,” clocks shouldn't move with such turbulence. I desperately want to tell the waiter that the clock is in pain and should either be taken to a doctor or put out of its misery. I do neither.