Time Strand — Christian George

Time is a thread I cling to

And follow as it pulls me with its motion,

As if I’m observing life take place before me—

Apathetic in my intentions.

Memories fade after they’ve happened,

And I’m left trying to recount the number of times

I’ve said hello to someone

Whom I then forget

Before I’ve said goodbye to them.

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Like trying to run up a hill but the       sinks to the

bottom,

And then I’m

       falling

    before

I realize

I’ve

   even

            been

running.

Trying to chase broken strands of my past

Is like watching oil boil too hot

And catching flame in its pan.

I see what has engulfed me

In those towers of heat,

And I’m left with the fragmented pictures

Of blue and red wisps of a past life.

 

So I end up hoping the house will burn down

So I no longer have to look at the rooms and guess

Which one is the one where I first met you—

Or the room where I last said I love you.

I only can follow the strands that twist and wind

Through the hallways and into the different rooms again—

Hoping you’ll be in one,

Waiting to be found again.