The sand spills through your hourglass, but I’m not listening. I cannot bear another moment knowing that soon you’ll run out of sand and all that will be left to utter is “goodbye”.
Our time is slowly withering away and I hear it only as a scream. You were my rock, and I should have known that all rocks turn to sand.
The time slips from our grasp; but maybe it was never ours to hold. I hear the last of it hiss as it escapes: “All good things must come to an end.” The problem, I’m sure, is that we are taught not to believe in forever, and maybe that’s why everything’s destined to end.