I remember having
a firm
grip over time
when I was younger.
I had a hold on it,
fingers clasped
around firmly,
as it changed form
in my palm,
slipping into nothing.

As time went by,
days started blurring
into weeks into
months into years, so
everyday felt like a
sloppy slur of infinity.
Time went fast,
as I tried to keep up,
ragged breathing and all.
A fire in my muscles
tugged itself with
confusion and reminiscence
and
Time became a friend
that I lost touch with
and distance/priorities/ schedules
took
up the spaces
between us, so that
I could
never hold a conversation
without a tinge
of perplex seeping
into my mind, reminding
me
how things have
changed and shifted shape
far too much
with routines and plans
that don't involve
each other.
So, I think of Time
with fondness, like a stint
that I knew
wouldn't last.


I push my
hands against a force that
pulls me towards it,
and I keep  trying
to pull away in my
youthful delusion.