I have a habit of keeping clocks on my walls, but taking out the batteries.
When I sit in my room in silence and the ticking drones on in the background, it gradually transforms from soft ticks to deafening gunshots reminding me how quickly everything slips through my fingers.
A still clock is beautiful. The hands are frozen in time showing no evidence of the world changing or continuing on. It’s as though the clock remains in a tiny bubble where time no longer exists and everything is eternal.