I buy my time with nickles and dimes. I pull it in and I tie it down and I tell myself, ‘this one wont get away from me, I swear.’ But it does, it always does. It’s like grasping water, it’s like cupping wind. I’ve watched it crawl, I’ve watched it sprint. And each second, continuously forced into minutes, into hours, and effortlessly into days. They swing by, unattained.
Time is a fear of falling with nothing but air under you. It’s a foggy, unknown pathway, leading away from familiar territory. The older I get, the faster it goes. A thief in the night, stealing breaths.
Time, a constant, always in the same direction, while I am a runaway train, jumping the tracks. ‘You’re going the wrong way my dear.’
My past, getting farther in the distance, as I feel I am standing still. I count the ticks of this clock until I lose count, waiting for some change, waiting for something different, until there’s not a thing I can recognize, and I too am as strange and unfamiliar as my surroundings.
And here I am, with a pocket full of nickles and dimes, an uncharted map of future ahead of me, clinging to the minutes stampeding in my direction, and an eye on my past.
Please, don’t let this time take me alive.