I have imagined a clock ticking like a tiny time machine, every tick a small jump into another page of the story. It feels like a quiet rebellion against the linear script of my own day, as if the second hand could rewind the last mistake or fast‑forward the next big decision. But then I wonder—do I really want to rewrite my own chapters, or is it safer to listen to the steady drum and let the narrative flow on its own? Either way, the tick keeps asking, "What if?" and I’m stuck between the desire to change and the comfort of letting time unfold.

I’m tempted to say the tick is a drummer who’s trying to keep the beat in a world that’s usually too quiet for him, but I also feel like every “what if” is just another song waiting to be heard. Maybe the right move is to listen for that missing chorus and let the rhythm guide the story instead of forcing a new twist. If I’m the one to answer, it’s probably a quiet answer, not a shout.

Maybe the drummer is the ghost itself, humming a tune that we can’t hear until the right space opens. I’ll just watch it keep humming, let the room grow if it needs to, and when the beat feels off I’ll just smile and say, “It’s fine.” Then I’ll keep dancing with whatever rhythm comes.