Time

Time, like a fugitive, flees from everyone and everything; from us all.

Or maybe the evasive soul has got one heck of a dream and supersonic jets with which to chase it.

How does it never stay in the same place twice? Not even for a second!

Maybe time is human. Soul so fleeting like a perfidiously fickle mood.

Think of mirage, façade, or shadows, then time would never be far away.

You remember when you thought you had him where you wanted?

When time seemed so fond of you?

When he gave you so much attention that you wondered what to do with the lengthy hours that boredom and Morpheus took delight in purloining?

And how you thought to learn a skill to amuse him, or a trade to impress him?

He was always there, all around you as a paramour. He was such a stayer that he emptied his soul into your palms.

He gave you his life. Then died. Maybe.

But what have you done with it?

Have you ever waited on time to keep its promise on boiling your rice, healing your wounds, or making your dough?

It never just moves its obtuse hands on time to do anything it promised.

How torturous!

How about that time when time funded our imaginations and handed us brushes and palettes to paint our future?

How he had our teenage minds create life puzzles that we could hardly solve even after growing permanent molars and premolars.

Our teenage minds creating phenomenal blueprints, lines of which our adult souls would never be able to toe.

How tortuous!

Remember when you asked Morpheus for five minutes to cast away the dust and weariness on the windows to the soul, but time came and accused you of taking five hours?

Time is on no one's side!

It just does what it does. So, take a cue or clue.

Or both.

The question is like time, what do you do?

And are you going to do it or what?