If I am the minute hand,
you will be the hour and
every time I see you,
it feels like the first time.

It seems, no matter how far I go,
I will always run into you again.
Around n' around...
Time n' time again...

It seems we're stuck on treadmills,
never going anywhere
but constantly dreaming
of a far away finish line.

We'll trip and stumble,
just as all humans do,
but you'll never see us acknowledge it.
Our rule: talk about but never to.

Deep in my bones,
there is an ache that shakes me,
but no matter what I swear
I will see you next hour.

It is similar to a curse
that binds us with unchecked will.
No explanation-
just our actions that feel right.

So many questions as to Why
but how am I to explain
something that sits in my bones
and tells me Do

I'll say goodbye,
but what good will that do?
If I am the minute hand,
I will see you next hour.