The Gift of Yourself, Your Mess, and the Time You Have Left

Too much time spent crying over spilled milk.

Instead of cleaning up, I let it sit.

I only guess at why I let it happen.

How could I let it slip from my fingertips?

One more long day over, but one more year long gone.

I keep getting older, but the rest are moving on.

Counting down the days until that something.

Counting on that something to be it.

The reason for the messes held behind me.

That all of those were adding up to this.

But there is no something.

There is no it.

There is no reason.

There is no this.

There’s just me, and

There’s my mess, and

There’s the time that I have left.