Once upon a time, under a canopy of tiny, twinkling stars, joy was hidden in the belly of an old wooden clock. The clock had a face, and though it looked nothing like yours, or mine, it had stories hidden under its arms.
If you listen carefully, the whispers of the wandering hour echo through the night. Yet, there is always the whisper of the unknown. Tick-tock, went the clock... tick-tock, where have the stars gone?
Every tock is a stolen secret, a forgotten dream, and sometimes, when the moon hides, little shadows peek from the corners asking, "Have you been here before?"
They chuckle in hushed tones, shrouded in time, promising candies laced with sorrow and laughter lined with tears. Round and round goes the hand, remembering what once was, inviting you to play hopscotch with the shadows.