Side-note: you should follow my pins so I can meet more pinners.
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(for copyright reasons, see the picture that inspired this here.)
I count the tick-tocks every time she comes to the cemetery. Every day, the apricot sun dips down, and the woman in gray comes wearing a plain wristwatch.
Tick-tock as she replaces the grave's dead flowers with fresh ones.
Tick-tock as she presses her lips to the ground.
Tick-tock as she whispers to the bones that can't hear her.
She doesn't look up at the girl made of stone. She doesn't see the tears on my cheeks, or the pleading look in my eyes.
I've counted six thousand and fifty-one ticks of her watch. My mother has never recognized me.
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