Here on the island, time feels like this:
And it looks like this:
The blank spot on the wall where the clock used to be.
I look up there a dozen times a day and wonder what time it is.
We know the closing of this chapter of our lives is imminent, but someone tore out the last page of the book.
We know HOW it ends, we just don't know WHEN.
We are at the mercy of all the other people involved in the escrow.
A real estate agent, a mortgage broker, a loan officer, a notary public, an appraiser.
So we wait for some clue--an email, a phone call.
A message in a bottle.