Archive for July, 2011

Time is a fickle creature, invisible by nature except for the mask of hours, minutes and seconds we place upon it. It is the musical tune of existence to which we all dance. It is our immortal ally, our cruel antagonist and neutral observer, measuring the peaks and troughs of our lives. This instance moves endlessly despite the many arrivals and departures that fill it. It propels us forward whether we’re ready or not. It is the one force we cannot cheat or evade. Despite how cruelly we treat each other, we are all nestled in the common bosom of time. Like us, it can be kind and sweet or bitterly ruthless and unforgiving. Time is an ever-morphing entity, the thread that weaves our actions into the fabric of history; a fabric in which future generations will wrap their hopes, dreams and expectations for the future. The quality of it depends on the decisions we make in the present, which is infinitely coiled around the vital strand that stretches far beyond our physical existence.


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He snores, but I don’t mind. Its subtle melody accommodates the lullaby his heart is singing to me. Though my cheek is at home against his warm chest, I am unable to join him in slumber. I would love nothing more than to waltz with him in the cottony clouds of our joint reverie, but reality keeps me grounded. The indigo sky brightens as dawn approaches, reminding me that as the sunrises, so will he. The romance of many couples litter the unmarked graves of dutiful obligation. Ours will be no different. His departure would certainly cast me into perpetual night as I cling to memories of brighter days. Yet I know memories often dull as time elapses. They sometimes dissolve and mingle with the fragments of fantasy, leading one to wonder if they were ever real. I need for this moment to remain real. I need this moment to stretch into eternity.

As indigo fades to topaz, I see a sliver of fuchsia on the horizon. Since when did the sun ever rise so fast? The droning melody of my lover’s lullaby breaks as he begins to rouse. The morning is already beckoning him though the sun has yet to break the surface. It will rob me soon enough and I’ll be damned if it claims a few extra minutes. I eclipse the approaching light with my eyelids, cautiously tightening my embrace. As he stretches I can feel the sunrays blazing a trail across my face. The warmth is rivaled by the heat of the stealthy tears escaping my closed eyes. I catch the evidence of my despair before it falls upon his chest. If I am to be immortalized in his memory, I refuse to be etched in a state of weakness. Not if I can help it. A tender kiss on my crown and his sweet moan precedes the words I’ve dreaded for hours:

“Good morning. Time to wake up.”

I watch him pad into the bathroom and realize I’ll never be a morning person again. It’s ironic how the two phrases that dishearten me most both share the same prefix.

Good morning.


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