The days creep by

The weeks jog

The months sprint.

Time is a curious thing

A cruel thing, perhaps.

She’s ruthless


You can’t escape her

You have to live with her

But she never stops moving

She never gives you a break.

She doesn’t get tired,

but you do.

She is infinite,

but you’re not.

You’re left in this odd conundrum

Bound and controlled by this intangible thing

Lovesick by the gifts she gives you

Precious gifts

Heartbroken by what she takes from you.

You beg her…


Please be kind.

And maybe she will be

For a second, for a minute

For a month, for a year

Somehow constant, but also finicky

She’ll go on and on

But she’ll abandon you one day.

She’ll abandon everyone that you love

And somehow…

Somehow that makes you respect her more.

Funny little thing she is, Time.

She’s the master of manipulation.

So highly valued

So easily wasted

She doesn’t care either way

She moves only one direction.






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