Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

The clock never stops. Time can neither be stopped nor reversed. I never question this fact, but there is a small strip of space
where the clock stops ticking and the world stops turning and a person stops changing. Like an urban Neverland, Hamilton
Park appears on the side of a two-lane road, looking over the New York City skyline. The blazing lights that rest between the
dark river and the inky indigo sky mute the tick-tock. Here, I can choose whether I want to revert into the girl who first found this
strip on Boulevard East or whether I want to postpone the disappearance of the teenager who only believes in the power of
skylines and metaphors. This single space confined by white wrought-iron gates and cobblestone pavement symbolizes all I
have to take with me and everything I have to leave behind.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

As a child, I was terrified by grandfather clocks. Every time I would hear the chime in my kitchen, my heart felt like it was being clasped, then twisted, then dropped. My phobia was a direct response to my upbringing. I was not brought up in a household where the doorway to the kitchen was scrawled on by charmingly, sloppy lines indicating height differences with every passing year. Instead, I grew up surrounded by cardboard boxes. Every twelve to eighteen months, they carried me from one apartment to the next; we ran on a tight schedule. Over the years, I have sought out moments and spaces like Hamilton Park that are at an infinite standstill, completely unaffected by the time. My small Neverland, where I wrote my first poem, performed my first song and ran my first three miles.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

I am seventeen now and I can see over those white wrought-iron gates. I would think that the childlike appeal of Neverland
should be dissipating into another memorable moment at this age. Instead, it is only evolving into a love for the never-ending
ticking sound. The incandescent skyline, across the Hudson's constant, insuppressible current no longer soothes me with the
same contentment I felt as a child. Instead, it inspires in me a craving for growth and expansion within the walls and
constrictions of time.

Hamilton Park is more than a physical location, a dropped pin on my Google map. It is a milestone for the girl who was forever
afraid of cardboard boxes. This strip on Boulevard East has taught me that my true home is within me. The physical
consistency unearthing the fact that change should never be feared. If I move forward with every ounce of willpower I have,
some things will remain unchanged but I will not.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

The clock never stops.