minute one fades into minute 2, a miracle of digital display on the upper right corner of the computer screen. 17 to 18 to 19 after 59 the hour changes the numbers repeat. the pm seems the last front in this skirmish against time but soon even this wall falls and am takes its crumbled comrade's position. to keep the soldier company in his lonely battle.
he has a message and all the time in the world in which to word it. no immediate response needed. no eyes glancing upwards, expectant and losing patience. no lungs no mouth no voice to demand "well?!" time to pace it. make it clever. casual. trying so hard not to seem like he's trying so hard. time to perfect. time to ruin.
no remorse. he had all the time in the world in which to word it. instead he comes up with this clever but not clear enough. she smiles but it's ambiguous so she frowns. now she's uncertain and an uncertain anne is an unhappy anne. his letter made her unhappy.
and he had all the time in the world.
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