time has been seeping out of this fragile broken glass of life at a much quicker pace that usual these last few months. Days seem as hours, months as if days... and so on and on.
a futility in fighting time.
a futility in remembering and embalming the moments of nows that came before.
futility of trying catch the nows yet to come.
absent and tired.
an evening worth several million eons.
~m