It was thought of, once.

 I sat, looking over the streets of London, my feet dangling off the edge of the clock face.

"Quite the view, huh?"

The voice startled me, and I turned to see her walking over, and taking a seat next to me.

"Mm. I really love how you can see the Thames from here. The crystal-clear water just dances in the daylight," I answered.

"What brings you here, then?" She took a seat beside me, and we both looked over the bustling modern landscape.

"Well... I've been thinking a lot about my place, you see. Where I belong in the world."

"And you think you belong in London?"

"No, no," I laughed, "London is merely the... image, if you will, of the possibilities of the world. So many winding streets, so many curious citizens, so many nooks and crannies. Why, to be born here would be to have all these mysteries represent home."

"But, London isn't your home. What's so special about it?" She gestured to the clear skies, the crystal waters, the bustling streets of people and cars, "You've never even been. For all we know, it's a lot more abysmal than this image here."

"Of course," I said, "but that is rather the point of it being an image, or rather a daydream."

I stood upon the edge and walked back into the belltower, observing the cogs and gears that powered the monument.

I continued: "The heart of London, some would say, is the clock itself. The very keeper of time to let all other members of society know when and where they are meant to be. And so, I find myself here, where the ticking heart is the central of a city that expands well into the distance, with not a way that I see where the horizon beats the city."

She continued watching the city, and I continued watching the clock.

"So, London is your image of the world. Then what is your image of us?"

"I'm not really sure. One lives in the world as author and face, the other as a character and soul. Does that make either of us unnecessary, or are we both part of the whole story?"

"I'm not sure I know."