I know that I’m not supposed to wish time away. But it’s almost a holiday, it’s almost a break, it’s almost a special day, it’s almost time with loved ones, almost, almost, almost.
I’m always away from someone, always missing someone, and always thinking “if only it were a different time or place and I could stop this endless missing”. When I’m with the people I love I beg time to stop again. Instead it churns onward and spits me back out onto the treadmill of absence.
The day will come when I’ll scramble for time, when I measure time not in how long until I see the people I love but how long until they depart. I worry I will lament years of wishing time away, but I can’t help myself. My heart has reasons of which reason, fear, and better judgment know not.