i feel time walking by, like a subtle breeze. it holds an easy pace. not swift, but steady. i smell its remembered perfume, still lingering a few steps behind. a bit of yesterday falls from its pocket, i pick it up and call out to offer it back. but time keeps walking and i stand there holding whats left of a foreign yesterday. a cold bite of air nips my neck, as if the heat from today left to chase after time. the longer i stand the more fragile the yesterday in my hand becomes. it breaks up, brittle as the last dried leaves of fall, crumbling in the grass. and now my past lay incomprehensible, tiny broken bits of memory scattering in the wake of time's easy pace.
