No Time At All

It’s been a while, I know.

But then again, a while is subjective, isn’t it?

The same goes for a minute.

Although it’s really just 60 seconds

Out of an infinite number of seconds

We say it when we feel like it’s been much longer.

But a minute is finite

Just like the days, months and years that pass us by

It’s just 60 seconds in 1 minute

60 minutes in an hour

24 hours in a day

7 days in an week

4 weeks in a month

12 months in a year

24/7/365

And yet…

The days grow longer

And the years become shorter

And the lifetime’s you had in the past

Are just a jumping off point for all the lives waiting in your future.

So, maybe it’s been a while

But maybe it’s really been no time at all.

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Time Stands Still

I lie awake and dream.

The sound of silence slicing through the air

My closed eyes watch for mile after endless mile

The world spinning in place

The passage of time standing still.

A Hungry Heart & A Ravenous Soul

My heart is hungry

The lining stripped raw

It’s running on empty

Like all the old flaws

My soul is now ravenous

A malicious red demon

In a life that’s hap-hazardous

It screams out like a beacon

My heart is on fire

Smoke filled and bleeding

I stoke each burning ember

In search of some meaning

My soul is imploding

A slow, violent collapse

The inner lining eroding

The remains become scraps

I watch and wonder

The world spinning on time

As we all fall asunder

Is this just my design?

A Whisper of Love, A Whisper of Hate

One voice spoke in a whisper of love while another spoke in a whisper of hate. The love was soft, endearing and ultimately quiet. The hate was rigid, demeaning and ultimately booming. They spoke over one another, weaved into each other, cut deep through each other. They floated on the ends of a large metal scale. Shifting weight and meaning with each passing minute. For a moment, one would gain the upper hand while the other lost its balance. Hate would rain down in a hailstorm of bullets, spreading fear, injustice and corruption. Love would rise up in outspoken vows and kisses on cheeks. With nods of encouragement and acceptance. They tumbled and fought through the edges of time, always striving to break free from one another. The longer they fought, the stronger they both became. Love rose and exploded like a firework. While hate fell and sliced like a guillotine. Blood spilled from both ends. Tears flowed from each crevice. Screams pierced through the crumbling facade as the decades rose and fell. As the minds of human race expanded in revelation and shrunk in misunderstanding.

They will continue to struggle for an eternity to come.

Thinking Out Loud

As I sit here in my NYU dorm room, applying for jobs in the publishing field and trying not to forget to meet with my Book Imprint group from the NYU Summer Publishing Institute, in which I am currently spending 6 weeks of my life, I find that the thing that is constantly on my mind isn’t getting a job or my excitement/anguish about this new book project. Instead, it’s about love. What my mind constantly creeps back towards is not what I’m going to spend my life doing but instead who I’m going to spend my life with. I am one of those people that tells myself that I would be perfectly happy being married to my career. Especially if that career will keep the heat on and food on the table and my soul intact (for the descent into hell is an easy one. It’s getting back that’s hard). But I don’t expect this career to hold my hand or wipe away my tears or hold me as I fall asleep.

So is there a possible solution to this conundrum? I suppose I can’t worry about one more than the other. I’m told both will come in their own time. But time is a tricky thing. It waits around for no one and continues on without a second glance. Time knows patience and impatience just as we do. But it doesn’t know how we’ll spend it. I suppose I’ll just keep telling myself that I have plenty of it.

Or I could just stop listening to so many love songs. Yeah.

 

Inspired by Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud” from his new album “X”.