Time flies.
But not in the moment.
Even a minute feels long
When it’s filled
With silence.
A second stretches
When you’re waiting
For an answer,
For a door to open,
For any small change.
Maybe time doesn’t fly.
Maybe it crawls,
Through empty rooms
And restless nights,
Thought the space
Between one thought
And the next.
Maybe we only think
it flies because
We forgot
What wasn’t memorable.
The ordinary mornings.
The quiet afternoons.
The countless hours
That left no mark
Upon our minds.
Years disappear
Not because they’re short.
But because they become a blur
Of familiar feeling.
Time never flew at all.
We were the ones
Who turned years
Into memories,
And memories
Into moments.