Only Time Will Tell

Fri, 04/15/2016 - 18:22 -- 25clock

One.

This world is filled, overflowing with

things, and items, and possessions, and far too many bits and pieces of lives.

In a society revolving on idealistic variety and materialistic identity,

what remains when everything becomes one thing?

What becomes most important when you can only have the one?

 

One.

If skeletal hands and a hooded face ask for one last wish…

Time.

I need time. Cliché to say when asked to lose everything else,

but I don’t want minutes, and hours, and days to consider all that I’ve lost.

I want one

Time, or moment, or memory, or bit and piece of my life.

 

But…

 

Two.

Two hands with fingers interlocked.

The sun beats down, and I don’t care because

laughter, and picnics, and grass stains on your shirt,

and little bits and pieces of the tree we climbed are sticking to my mind.

 

Three.

Three siblings with bright eyes and eager grins.

We dance around the room, and I laugh because

family vacations, and sticky hands, and blanket forts,

and scattered bits and pieces of our homemade snowflakes litter the floor.

 

Four.

Four friends with lively attitudes.

The lunch bell rings, and I smile because

sleepovers, and pomegranate stained walls, and nicknames,

and sugary bits and pieces of cupcakes decorate your kitchen counters.

 

Five.

Five pages left in a book.

I read early in the morning, and I gasp because

plot twists, and cliff hangers, and character development,

and hidden bits and pieces of my life live through the story.

 

Six.

Six colored pens in their box.

They’re dumped on the table, and I create because

broken hearts, and overwhelming anxiety, and bad days,

and drawn bits and pieces of blue smudge my hand.

 

Seven.

Seven final concerts for each year.

The stage lights are hot, and I breathe deep because

rehearsals, and music, and hours of practice,

and resounding bits and pieces of the songs replay in my head.

 

Eight.

Eight degrees Fahrenheit outside.

I bundle up, and I grin because

snowmen, and hot chocolate, and white serenity,

and crystalized bits and pieces of ice crunch in my boots.

 

Nine.

Nine movie ticket stubs.

I empty my pockets, and I don’t throw them out because

popcorn tubs, and uncomfortable seats, and whispered comments,

and overused bits and pieces of references in everyday conversation.

 

Ten.

Ten sessions in a therapist’s office.

I sit on the couch, and I’m actually happy because

final session, and deep breathing, and controlled emotions,

and released bits and pieces of anxiety are relieved.

 

Eleven.

Eleven red traffic lights.

The lights switch to green, and I drive on because

blasting music, and winding roads, and starry nights,

and countless bits and pieces of my town fly by.

 

Twelve.

Twelve school years ending in one moment.

My eyes are wet, and I throw my cap into the air because

six page papers, and 4.0’s, and eight class periods,

and all the bits and pieces of my education are captured in one piece of paper.

 

But…

 

One.

One thing that I cannot live without.

My choice is time, and I make that decision because

time creates moments,

and moments become memories,

and memories define me,

and every bit and piece of me comes to life with time. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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