Your time is borrowed, your breath on lease,
Drifting through days that never quite cease.
The clock moves forward, yet nothing is yours,
Just echoes of footsteps on temporary floors.

The walls that surround you, the bed where you sleep,
Are pieces of stories you’ll never quite keep.
You chase after meaning, but find only change,
A world rearranging, distant and strange.

Yet in the fleeting, a truth still remains—
Life isn’t measured in assets or gains.
It's laughter at midnight, the warmth of a hand,
The moments uncounted that slip like the sand.