Time

One month has become two weeks and it scares me.  Soon two weeks will be one and then I will be out of time.

I hate time.  My tormentor.  I can’t stop it, or erase it, or turn it back, or change it.  Relentlessly it marches forward, no weapon can stop its onslaught.

It’s nearly a year since you entered my life and now I can’t remember a time that you haven’t been in it.