The clock is ticking one second slower each day. It’s ten minutes behind now. We’re ten years behind now. The same sequence of events as last week. Now play it back, louder. Your argument is invalid. Your argument never existed in the first place. You bit your tongue too many times and now it’s bleeding. The clock is the same color as your eyes. You’re both watching me. I’m talking too much. I can’t understand what I’m saying. Sounds like a prayer being uttered over and over. This again. You’re no longer listening. No such thing as comfortable silence in this house. A book is opened to the last page. The ending is the same as it was yesterday. You don’t remember the beginning. You take my word for it. The fireplace has never been used because you’re tired of putting out fires. My smoke signals go unanswered. I regret asking. I ask again anyway. The book is burning. The curtains are pulled shut so the sun can’t see us. Call it shame. You haven’t taken your clock eyes off of me. I’m reciting the same prayer in reverse now. It smells acrid in here. I forgot what you look like when you cry. You forgot how to cry. We’ve done this song and dance before. You know how to sing. You won’t sing for me. I can’t hear you over the clock. You can’t hear me over the book. The book can’t hear the clock over the smell of the smoke. The sun can’t see us ticking one second slower for every argument we didn’t have and now we’re all just passing time