A ring of time. Comfort is a constant rhythm that draws out peace from dusty bookshelves. Stillness exists between each interjection of music. Love will remain in each moment when the sound dies. 

Why? you may wonder. Because it will always be present in the next second. It will always come back. Home is the empty space held tightly between seconds. 

A hand gently sweeps across its face in constant devotion. It does not tire. It needs no rest. It merely chases shadows around and back again across a face that will never wrinkle in old age. 

But a day will come when all things end. Its body will be destroyed. A face without eyes stares blankly ahead into the nothingness that is sure to come. But nothing has changed. The heartbeat is still ticking, even if you can’t hear it. Always and forever, it will be there. 

Time is music. 

So, I ask, what can this be?