I try to hold it—
the way light rests on water
the way laughter fills an empty hall—
but time moves like someone late for a train
no looking back, no hesitation
just the scuff of a heel—then gone.

It leaves behind the small things—
a cold cup of coffee on a nightstand
books left open waiting to be read
a radio playing in an empty room.

I ask why—
why does it move so fast
why does it take more than it leaves
why does it feel like I’m the only one asking.

Outside
the trees don’t seem to mind—
they bend in the wind
let go of their leaves
and wait for the next season
without complaint.

Maybe that’s the trick—
to stop asking so much
to ripple gently in its current
to walk alongside time
instead of chasing its shadow.