(And Time Goes On)

I dunno sometimes I feel bad for abstract concepts

Poor Time, says the girl, I don’t believe he has any friends. Everyone is always telling him stop, hurry up, slow down, move along, leave me be. Poor Time, dear Time, he’s the only thing we have, and how we abuse him.

Time thinks, I wish I could stop for her. I wish I could give her a little more of me.

The girl closes her eyes. She goes where Time cannot reach her. In the clean white room the clocks shudder and flicker and halt in a terrible, temporal sob.

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Thank you for reading. If you have any suggestions for a topic for a future post, I would love to hear them.

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