What’s Time?

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I have waited years for every week to end.

Imagining the possibilities of feeling free.

But as time continued I saw only the beginning.

Mundane days stretched out to two days.

Though I remembered some days as if they were yesterday.

I know myself to fall for being in the weak.

I can no longer continue to see it with such disgust.

What is a day but time compiled to form endless possibilities.

Stretched seconds of life to mean it to be ours alone.

Only we seem to hold to such a passing.

Scheduling our time to hands that cross and never pointing to our own end.

It continues to flow and though it simply isn’t my own, I continue to hold.

Each pointed tip revealing the present before me.

And so I open it and know that I will live, now.

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