time becomes a black sand, a grainy but flowing sloeberry melanin river. time becomes as soft as the Sun's beach and like a hot humidity upon sickly lungs. it warps and it wanes, when I'm with you. The mountains could hug and the sky could comfort, the storms are alive with every thunder strike of tempestous grace. time runs in the forests until its breath couldn't catch, it flies until the wind won't carry it longer, it sits and rests in a lover's embrace for eternal days.