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.


Read more of my musings regarding time here. | This is a work of creative fiction, created for the prompt: time..

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