Time

Time slips away like water through my cupped hands as I scramble to clean up and change,

—Only to realize that the moment I was chasing has already dissolved.

It lingers in fragments, half-forgotten words, the scent of rain on pavement, or the warmth of sunlight,

—That’s now just a memory on my skin.

It flows in strange currents, sometimes dragging slowly, like a lazy river, and other times rushing by in a flood, sweeping me off my feet,

—Before I can catch my breath.

I try to hold on to it, taking pictures, writing in journals, filling up calendars,

—Doing whatever I can to preserve the moments before they vanish.

Birthdays, sunsets, old conversations,

—They blur together into snapshots in my mind.

But even as time slips away, each moment is still a chance

—Brief, fleeting, mine to hold, if only for a little while.