You’ve been messing with me.
Messing with me like a seedy Three-Card Monte hustle on Second Avenue.
We used to be so tight, but now I realize you’re slipping away from me.
When we first met, I thought, ”Wow, I could hang with you forever!” but that was before I understood how your twisted mind works.
Dirty, flirty, there and gone.
You give and then just as quickly, you’ve taken away.
I’ve seen people be generous with you. I’ve seen people be stingy with you. And I’ve seen people waste you. Not that you cared, because you always knew you’d get them back in the end.
And that exactly, is what’s so sick about you, Time: you are the end.
…And you’re the beginning. You’re everything I’ve ever experienced, in sequence. And I’ll willingly admit there have been times I’ve wanted to kill you. Not that I could (because Lord knows, I’ve tried).
Nope, you just go to ground; and marking yourself, wait for just the right…you.
Till there you’d be again. Not that you’re ever really not there. But there have been sacred moments of awe and inspiration that I knew…that I could feel were out of time, out of you.
But those moments don’t last long and never do: the time was up, that’s all.
You bastard.
Oh, look! A lifetime. A flash in the pan of your geologic you.
Thanks for everything, Time.
I’ve never hated anything I wanted so much more of.
***end***
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