Your linear passage is ruthless.
We notice this early, but don’t grasp it til it’s too late.
Your strict adherence to forward motion is maddening, and yet reliable.
It is a gift, in fact,
For we must flow with you, while
we foolishly ache to change you
(as if we could).
We cling to you, but you move at lightning speed.
We can’t hold on.
We spend you like there is no end
Take advantage of you … like you’re giving it away for free.
We kill you. And then beg for more.
Our love for you, Time, is a comedy.
Our abuse of you is tragic.
Be stingy with us, Time, as you would an ungrateful child.
But be loving, for we sigh (weep even) when we lose you.
We are just simple travelers, Time.
Never meant anyone harm.
Least of all you.