Time

The times for thinking of yourself have been over for a long time. You have nothing to offer them but more, more, and even more…you never stop offering. You never stop. Even when not asked, things are taken from you.

Those times you sit and think you’ll be remembered, hope to be remembered, then aren’t, will be the times you’ll ache to forget. You’ll forget. All it takes is a gentle comb of little fingers in your hair, a hand on your shoulder, an unexpected hug, then and only then is all forgotten.

Times sat together on a floor, on a bed, looking at the same things, laughing, and smelling and spilling, all together. Can be too much; can you be driven to madness? Until the snapping shut of lips and open arms, then doors.

The times in bed surrounded by piles on the floor of silent, sleeping parasites of love will be gone, are going and will be missed with the relief that naked sleepy blunders go unnoticed.

Times left to go now less than the times well spent, misspent wasting them at the mirror or waxing a car or cleaning your clubs. All the given and all the taken and all the gifts and stolen treats leaving you with little time for thinking of yourself.