clocks

Same as Jess had once wished that someone, somewhere would find a way to get him some new sneakers so he could win the schoolyard races – now all he desperately wants is for someone to turn back the clock and tell him not to go to the museum that one, rainy day.

But nobody does; nobody can. Time goes on as it always had, and life goes on as it always did, and nothing changes.

(Except for Jess himself.)

He goes to school, but whenever he sees a wave of choppy blond hair disappear around the corner, his heart skips a beat.

(He learns about symbolism that day in English, and irony.)

He does his chores, and his homework, but he's thinking about days spent laughing in the forest, about the wind whistling through the trees and the cheerful barks of a troll hunter echoing all around them.

('Cause there's no cure for memory.)

Every Sunday in Church, he's remembering how she wore that pretty blue dress –

("Now that'd be a sight!")

– with those grimy brown boots underneath, and how he couldn't stop himself from smiling. He doesn't listen to the hymns anymore; he's busy looking out the window and thinking about blue light through stained glass and golden sun dappling the forest floor as it filtered through the leaves.

(Her smile was brighter than the light, so he supposes it's fitting that the sun no longer shines for him.)

Sometimes, he wonders what life would have been like if someone did change the past, if someone did fix his mistakes and make it all better.

Would they have fought and grown apart?

Would they have been friends always?

Would they have fallen in love?

(He loved her already, and he loves her still, but he'll never tell.)

Jess doesn't know. He doesn't know a thing. He just wishes that he could have found out.

He just wishes that someone could stop time and turn back the clock, so the sun shines and he can make it all better.