So hard to put one's finger on the passage of time, the days mercilessly ticking by unrelenting, the feeling of only having so much time, wondering how much of it may have been wasted, like so many grains of sand in an hourglass, finite in number, more precious than diamond dust, and so much harder to hold on to. We soldier on, spending our time like currency, caught up in the ebb and flow, in the endless cycle of day, followed by night, followed by yet another amber sunrise. I think of how many of those days were spent with you, in the arms I wanted to lose myself in, your memory so distant to me now. Your heart laid bare, and yet, somehow unknowable, its infinite blue depths, its cold sunlit peaks, a world contained within its chambers. I think of how many of those days were spent with you, in the arms I wanted to lose myself in, your memory so distant to me now. I think of how many of those days were spent with you, in the arms I wanted to lose myself in, your memory so distant to me now. I think of how many of those days were spent with you, in the arms I wanted to lose myself in, your memory so distant to me now. I want to believe we are still somehow destined, connecting, fated for something more, to believe that some unknown adventure awaits us, just past the horizon, the here and now. Each night I feel an indescribable urge to hide inside another universe. Time felt so infinite in another universe. in, your memory so distant to me now. But the dream threatens to slip away from me in the pale morning, and I am once again faced with the prospect of another day, one that will not bring you back to me. you