I love the clock in the mantel of your breast. It ticks with an organic precision, which is not precise at all. Time flies in moments of anger and excitement, but when you are content and at peace, the flow moves slowly. I love the ticking of this instrument, and I know it well.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

My days are measured by 1000 clocks. I hear the clicking of their mechanism, occasionally the whoosh of their gears, and sometimes the sweep of their second hand, as it counts down to nothing. Some, I have heard race too fast to count, as their first seconds of life begin. Some, I was the last, ever, to hear. Some, I knew, would not take long to end, as the rhythm became broken. It is the measure of their lives.

Tick tock. Tick tick tick tock.

But yours is the measure of my life. The joy, the wonder, the peace, the fear, the love. With every tick, our life is built. Each tock, our love grows to entwine us. In every hour and every precious second, it is the rhythm of our dance, the meter for the orchestra of our experiences and our plans. It is the metronome for the student, humbled in how much he has to learn, yet excited for the beauty that is now open to him.

Tick tick tock tock.

If I could no longer hear that sound, then time will have run out, for me, too. For 20 years, 630 million seconds, I have lived to your rhythm, danced to your meter, sang the song of your prosody, and I pray to run out of numbers before I stop counting its precious beat.