It sounded like whispers, you know? The life dripping from your eyes. It corroded like zippers, wet, from years of spilling rain onto an inconsistent raincoat. Sometimes I remember, do you? The amount of time found, spent and all but lost. We were children, then, with nothing but nap times, play times, and Lego shrines. Second hands dressed up as hours; and minutes, well, they just didn’t matter. Splatter paint was a way of life and life was just a way to live. The simple times always flew faster than the last.