It sounds like a thought experiment made of gears and choice, like a time‑machine that prints every future on its face and you handpick a single line. But the more paths you see, the more you question whether you’re just another point in a multiverse or a single thread in one timeline. The real question might be: does the act of looking change the path, or is the clock simply a mirror of the many selves you could be?

You know, fixing the clock feels more like writing a poem than reading one—each wrenching motion is a line you’re adding to your own verse. And if the gears grind into a single pattern, maybe that pattern was always there, waiting for you to press the right knob. If they just spin forever, perhaps the question is less about the clock and more about whether we ever actually hold a choice or just roll with whatever fate lets us touch. Either way, I think the act of tightening a bolt is less about control and more about being present in the moment, even when the whole future is a whisper behind each click.