In that room is a woman who for decades has been waiting for something to happen to her. Any day now, she once said. But the moment she said it, the clock in that room all of a sudden ceased to work. Dust continues to settle on top of it, the woman's body ages and sags, and still she watches for some movement from the minute hand so that everything that's going to happen will happen already.
I see that door next to me in the mirror; I know what goes on behind it. And I keep it locked, I keep it locked, I keep it locked.
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