There is never enough time. Never enough hours days words to cover all the ground that needs to be covered, that should be covered, that would maybe be covered if we had a lifetime. There is not enough time to fully absorb that which we need to absorb. We can only hope to assimilate the most potent of particuars.

The harder you try to hold onto something, the more elusive it becomes, slipping away through clenched fingers. Like fists full of sand, pouring steadier and steady through tight grasps, quicker sliding through the cracks.

Time is all we need, time is all we ever need, but the future comes roaring down the streets and in panic, trying to grasp at whatever we can get, sometimes we lose it too quickly.

You are supposed to forget about the sand. Forget the hourglass slowly emptying, heading to an inevitable trickle of the last few seconds. Just deal with what you have.

There is never enough time.

Like Sisyphus always trying to reach for the unreachable, the objects of desire never quite come to hand, and when touched, wither into dust.

Time, time at the end of days I can only reflect upon what might have been, what could have been. . .

. . .and now. . .all I have are these thin notes, these ephemeral motes, these words like grains of sand through the fingers.

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