Time

5457

the number of days that i've spent 

breathing

when it's written out, it feels so little. So minor. The four numbers combined; I feel like I could hold it in my hand

The amount of days I've spent is a fraction to the old and an addition to the young

the clock keeps ticking

never stopping

never slowing

every second I get older

as I type my fingers slowly age without my acknowledgement

without my concern because I have so many more days to face, to see, to live

or at least that is my hope

time is such a funny thing 

you never know when it will stop

when it will cease to exist 

and

affect

the living and the dead

even in graves they get older too

break down

wear away

become wisps of dust making its way up our fingertips 

and

dance across our skin

until all that's left is bones

in the cold metal tombs.

a.s.b