It's interesting how a broken clock shows the correct time, exactly one second a day. At some point, the beatings of our hearts get synchronized. They are overlapped. One by one, the clock broke them. Some people call it 'here, now.' To me, it's the unwritten law that people can belong to each other for an eternity. I, sometimes, shut up a lot. I'm thinking about the mechanism of operation behind everything. I'm thinking about the gap in the steps between us. That's why sometimes I'm two or three breaths ahead. About two or three heartbeats ahead. That sometimes I know exactly what you're going to say. Or I should say. All this time I'm looking for the second I was talking about. The one where our tandem becomes movable perpetuity. A micro-eternity. That is if you're going to dissect the depth of the situation. That damn second fixes the clock that only works once a day. Reorder the universe according to the new data. Common pulse. Common walking. It's like a clap that closes a circle of silence. It's life springing from her nothingness. A twinkle. A test of the algorithm in the name of love. An impending catastrophe. The Big Bang. A knotted Yo-yo in the middle will never climb as the child who buys it waits. Change occurs when the centre becomes the new end. And the baby only enjoys half a Yo-yo. However, conflicting theories claim that the toy half is the equivalent of half joy. Before you die, you used to live. You're your own whole. Many times, half happy. You're knotted in the middle. A limb pulsates blood and life inside you—every second counts. Your mechanism varies over time and merges with the mechanism of another unique being. It dissipates loneliness. Minor start errors are supported. Any gap gradually fades after that. I'm always dreaming about this moment. A sunset I can't watch on my own. Then, someone, I feel right to shut up with. In fact, I don't have to say a word until the light's gone. And not even in the dark. Time to stop at the right second. You close your eyes and hold your breath. We're about to go through something that brings the Queen of the Night. I'd rather you didn't smell it before I described it to you. Know. I know it sounds absurd. But I need to know. I want to see how your face lights up when I tell you what the total happiness of the world means to the smell of this flower. I don't want it to become your favourite flower. You can hate it, too. I'm going to do my simple storytelling duty. Only if you agree, close your eyes. And hold your breath. Trust me. One word slips and opens up a new sense. It's nothing you've ever known. Still, conflicting theories claim it's all you've ever known—focused on the olfactory mystery. It's enough for one flower for the image of a field full of flowers to be born. It's enough to be quiet for a while. Now we wait for the only proper moment of the day. At some point, the beatings of our hearts synchronize. Overlap. They make one by the second of the broken clock. The smell like the Queen of the Night surprises you the moment you can't hold your breath. Your lungs fill up faster than my stories. You smile at me and tell me I'm a terrible storyteller. I'll give you a Yo-yo. I'm telling you never to swim it in the middle. I laugh about it as soon as I hear myself. Even if you float it in the middle, never enjoy it less. To me, it's the unwritten law that people can belong to each other for an eternity.