Stephanie Bennett-Henry and the clock of the Doc.
All I ever heard was the clock in your office. Tick-Tock. I asked you about it, you made eye contact with me for the first time but only for a second. Long enough for me to be okay with you never doing it again.
The stroke of your pen on the prescription pad was loud but subtle compared to the ending I wrote for myself that ripped it to pieces. Sounds like music now- but sometimes nails on a chalkboard, or maybe that clock won’t shut up.
I remember looking at the couch in your office, I never sat there, but wondered if people actually did. I don’t know why I’m here. But I know it’s only fifteen minutes tops… and you can bet your ass that clock will join us for every fucking minute.
You had a white coat that hung on the door and degrees covering the walls…
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