„Now." The word floats from my mouth and passes into nothingness. Like it has never been there. Gone, passed.

I breathe in. "Now," I say again, listening to the sound of it. "Nooooow." I drag it out, trying to make it last. I feel the vibration my voice leaves in my throat, on the tip of my tongue, the way my lips purse at the 'w'. After that, silence. It doesn't last. No matter how often I repeat it or how long I drag it out.

There will always be that moment when it's over.

A shiver rakes my insides as I think about it. It is you, Time.

You are the way you are. Fleeting, creeping, running. Always the opposite of what I need you to be. You are the present I give to those that I love, the rarest and most valuable commodity we all have. Yet, as you fleet, creep and fly; you are still the only constant in existence. Always have, always will be.

You are a bittersweet companion, a carrier of promise. A bearer of high expectations. All the times I was promised: 'It will get better, give it time.' or 'Time heals all wounds.' I expected you to do just that, to make it better, to heal my wounds. You did, sometimes. Sometimes you made things worse, and some wounds you still haven't healed.

When you and I were young, I couldn't make you go fast enough. I would have raced you as fast as my knobbly knees and dirty, bare feet would have carried me. Laughing and crying out in joy all the way. But you had your own pace.

Now I want to slow you down, I want you to hold on and let me have some of your precious moments a little longer. But you still have your own pace. You still don't stop for anyone or anything. You keep on riding on the echoes of words, the heels of dirty, bare feet, on the sun of good and bad days and on the crust of healing wounds.

Even though you have been with me since forever, I still don't understand you. Sometimes I don't even like you, but at others I am grateful for your steady pace. I guess the one thing you truly are is reliable. And even though I know that, I still waste you.

I curse myself for the many times I have already wasted you, for the times I likely still will.