TIME

I am looking at the face of time like I look at my own inside the memories of the mirror that occupy my wall. Neither is the same as age, and neither is going anywhere, and both do not know how to handle change. Once they were young, now, with a blink of an eye old.

Who aged the body or the mind? as both question this thing and the meaning of time. I can sit here watching the hands on my grandfather's clock, which lived in the hallway of my grandparent's house, but I realize now, at my growing age, neither stand still, and only one is going to the graveyard to live out the rest of their years.

So let time as its moment as we have ours, for both move fast as the other seems to be moving slowly, and both do not know when to stop and let go, for one is time, and the other is a name running from the numbers that are chasing them rise from the ashes and dust off the hands of time.