If I sit too long, time gathers in my chest,
as my mind sees the finish line waiting for me—
It makes it hard to breathe
not from the aches of the world,
but from the slow diminishment of time—
my own.
I find myself caught,
between the urge to fight
and the desire to let go,
between wanting to stay
and fearing I’ve overstayed
my welcome.
I wish I could run backward in time—
through rain-soaked streets
where I should have spoken,
to rooms filled with words
I swallowed down.
To rewrite a road already traveled—
I’d keep close only a few,
kind souls etched in love and loss,
and have us meet on softer roads
and brighter dawns,
let love linger longer—
so much longer—
before it learns to fade away.
But the clock never bends,
so I dwell in tiny moments,
trading the vastness of tomorrow
for the precious depth of just one day—
There is comfort in knowing
not all battles are won
with clenched fists
or held breaths.
I have no wars left to fight—
only the love for others left in me,
fading to purple, barely breathing—
but finally unmoored.