turn around.

time. the moments seem to pass faster the more of them I’ve lived and the more I accumulate to lose the more I fear their passing.

“what has it all meant?”
I don’t have a clue.
“what does it all mean?”
why don’t you tell me:

I have messed up. I have lost. I have destroyed and ruined and flown-in-the-face-of–
I have been irreverent in my usage of the moments entrusted to me.

…and still I have found myself here, permitted for whatever reason to cup a faintly shimmering bubble of hope in my dirty, bloodstained hands; to tread carefully that it may inflate, that it may grow stronger, that it may fill with the things I need to sustain me on this journey – however long the road may prove to be.

my forehead against the ground I breathe in and out, I sometimes weep, I pray that it will be enough. mea culpa. let it be enough.

people say time is a constant, a measurement, a force – they’ve got it all wrong. time is a commodity. time is a stone that increases exponentially in value as you cast it, fragment by fragment, into the sea. we never know how many fragments are ours to cast until the stone begins to grow lighter … and then we panic.
we barter,
we plead,

we are junkies stealing our elderly neighbor’s television for just another day, an hour, for just a few more moments.

we may get them, those few moments. we may buy the chance to pack everything we never said and did into those last borrowed hours
…but forever haunting us will always be the memories of the moments we wasted, leering behind us like sleepy specters that scatter the moment we turn to face them. gone.

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About tehlorkay

writer of poems and longer things. restless wanderer of small-town streets. unabashed seeker of the true world.
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