Memoirs of a Young Girl

Miss Havisham
never wound her heart
and  it didn’t stop.
It didn’t stop the black bruises
on her frail arms
to complement the white
in her gown
nor the matching gray in her hair brows.
I remember visiting her
- for a while -
every now and then.
Once, we even contemplated  
turning  back the time.
First, I'd move the minute hand of the clock
Then I'd wait for her to do the same
with  the hour hand.
She looked pleasantly surprised,
hopeful and proud,
but soon  thereafter
the second hand of her golden watch
caught up with the day light
and there were tears in her eyes.
Once, we really tried to hold
the pendulum three hands
still, at the same time,
But it was stronger than both
and we had to give up.
I still wonder if, by any chance, 
time had actually stopped
for the two of us
not to stare but to reward
such a bold enterprise.                                    For the better version check this:

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