Stopwatch

In 48 hours I’ll be in your arms
in 47 hours I’ll be 250 miles away
in 46 hours I’ll be kissing your lips
in 45 hours you’ll take away the pain.

In 44 hours I’ll be smiling
in 43 hours I’ll be anxious
In 42 hours I’ll be longing
In 41 hours I’ll be impatient.

In 40 hours I’ll be rushing
In 39 hours I’ll be late
in 38 hours I’ll be forgetting
In 37 hours I’ll be ready for a date.

In 36 hours I’ll be whining
in 35 hours I’ll be asleep.
In 33 hours I’ll be dreaming
In 32 hours I’ll be restlessly awake.

In 31 hours I’ll be tossing
In 32 hours I’ll be turning
In 30 hours I’ll be wondering
In 29 hours it’ll almost be morning.

In 28 hours we’ll be talking
In 27 hours we’ll be reminiscing
In 26 hours I’ll be board
In 25 hours I’ll wonder what I’m missing

In 24 hours I’ll be right here
In 23 hours I’ll be packing
In 22 hours I’ll be cleaning
In 21 hours I’ll be napping

In 20 hours I’ll be eating
In 19 hours I’ll be writing
In 18 hours I’ll be eating
In 17 hours I’ll be typing.

In 16 hours I’ll be painting
In 15 hours I’ll be drawing
In 14 hours I’ll be learning
In 13 hours I’ll regret it’s morning

In 12 short hours I’ll be lazy
In 11 short hours I won’t leave bed
In 10 short hours I’ll be out of this world
In 9 short hours you’ll be in my head.

In 8 short hours I’ll be peacefully asleep
In 7 short hours I’ll be tearing at the sheets.
In 6 short hours I’ll be resting quietly
In 5 short hours I’ll be breathing heavily.

In just 4 short hours I’ll be saying one more good night
In just 3 short hours I’ll be turning off the light.

In only 2 more hours I’ll be staring out the window, at the snow.
And over the next hour I’ll wonder why time moves so slow

Philosophy of Time

The hardest part of waiting
it watching the clock —tick, tick.

Strapped around my wrist,
in a world that’s rushing by,
I’m watching the sliver of gold slide —tick, tick.

The time is merely, relative to my existence,
without this piece of metal I’d have no regard
nor care even, for how many times the plate slides —tick, tick.

Though I note this little circle counts even paces,
with thoughts of you, when my heart races,
I can feel the weight of it, slowing —tick, tick.

I can lift my head and watch the whirling of the city fly,
not missing a pace, all those busy, rushed, lives.
While my wrist slowly pulses —tick, tick.

My heart beats fast and the highway hustles along.
But I’m always waiting, watching the clock, slowly drag along.
Time, is just an idea. It’s not real, and it doesn’t really matter.
I tell myself all this, waiting for the last tick, to leave my heart shattered.