The Ceaseless March of Time

one, single, short, introduction.

I could never pronounce her name correctly, though in turn, she could not pronounce mine. We were two complex adolescents, drowning in our lives. But in tragedy we found one another. We talked. Though it was something as simple as breathing, it now becomes something I miss. How may the sound of one’s voice alter so utterly? It was incomprehensible to me at first. I had to separate myself. As I always had when situations became far too explicit to avoid. But in my avoidance, all that was solve were the dripping of my tears. When do the hours end?

Someone you love can be taken away in just a minute. A second. Like time itself splits and commands it. Though she has not died, my heart has been fooled into believing so. How can that be? when she is standing right in front of me? It was not that I could not believe it, at that time I wished not to.

And my spiritual self, always content to wander to prayer, in just the split of a second, spirituality faded into the backdrop, melting away into the seams of my soul. Everything was gone. Time had taken it all,
and left nothing in
its wake.

and now I must forget what she once was

and help her to be

who she now is

how… poetic, would you not agree?