time. Time that once entertained
me during Sunday mornings, time
that withered away quickly
without a sound.
How I miss its tiny laughs, the way I
miss those rice cakes mother used to
bake for us in the province
during summers. I never really imagined
how empty it’d feel like to not be able to
taste those things again. Had I
known it, I would have
lingered in the
kitchen longer.
Time, how it
smelled like fried eggs and
freshly brewed coffee in the early
morning. But time never really considered
me. Like an old lover,
it danced only for
itself. Now, I rush outside to
look for it, but it
hopped on a train just like that,
leaving me with
only dust.