It's one in the morning and you wonder where
the time has gone, where it's been, why it's not
stopping
for you.
You feel the hope of each new day cloud beneath
a silver moon, and panic escapes, panting,
breathing labored like lips under pressure.
The feel of turmoil slithers in dreams, you're
not dreaming, but you lie awake at night
wondering why it can't be you who falls
asleep smiling.
It's not you. It never has been you.
Time waits for nobody, but somebody must move
the pawn because the sand sinks slowly
between closed fingers and runs out.
And suddenly, you fall asleep with that smile,
those dreams replaying in your head, but
they don't last for long. They move between reality
and hope, but which is true
you ask. Laced fingers feel the truth, and only
time will tell.
Love. It.
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