Sunday, October 10, 2010


It comes, leaves a memory, and then flies away quickly; I am unable to catch it and save it in a jar, poking holes through the lid to give it oxygen. 

I can't set it on my shelf and look at it, waiting for it to move or try to escape. It merely comes when it chooses, giving me an hour here, a few minutes there. 

I laugh with time; I flirt with time. I lose track of it, another quality that makes it impossible to capture and protect. I am constantly running out of it; my supply runs dry and life gets harder. It's like... a best friend who I haven't seen for a week or two, or when I go a whole day without seeing my baby brother.

Do you have any time on your hands? And if you do, would you lend me some?


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