I built a machine that travels in time, but it left me behind.
The time it takes for the pigment in Benedict Cumberbatch’s skin to shift into his hair.
There’s no time like bullet time.
The watch was empty, out of time.
Time, Tim, you’re running out.
The hands are always moving, even if mine aren’t.
“How do you build a time machine? I dunno, do what feels right.”
If you’re everywhere in time, can you change your mind?
The clock drank Red Bull and grew wings.
She valued time over money.
Chronologically and morphologically we’re waking up.
The power surge struck the alarm clock at midnight.
At the end of the day, it’s night.
-Write Away, 30th January 2013