Time

Time never does what we want it to.
It mostly does the opposite, in fact.
Going too fast, but then too slow,
Switching, swirling, like the wind.

When we’re in a hurry, or waiting,
Minutes drag on like days, like distance.
The silence only interrupted by the echo
Of the clock ticking, mimicking our hope.

But when every minute counts, for memories,
They blur, flying by as simple seconds.
The edges end up fuzzy, fizzling away,
Leaving us with nothing to remember.