i'm inviting Time inside.
offering a seat;
a room in my house so it can unpack its things.
letting It live with me
until all this tension i feel is relieved.

we're spending moments together (intentionally):
a song of silence sung during the sweet sunrise,
a solemn sulk just before bed.
i'll permit It sit with me.
let It remind me that there is so much left.

it'll wrap Its arms tightly around me;
pat my back in rhythmic beats that once felt cruel, but which now reduce me to infancy.
offer me a tissue in the shape of
'the right person at the right time.'
and for a moment, in its embrace
i find solace.

because there really is so much of it left.

because you are not dying.
(no, not yet.)
and it will be there in the morning,
your life is no less than palimpsest.

so i'm welcoming It in,
offering it a drink.
tea brewed long, but not bitter.
i refuse to live a life
with the string wrapped around the handle.
because seeping and stewing are not the same.