Moments are like sand they say;
They pass you by, grainy as they go.
You often wish you can take them back
But they slip through your fingers,
Gone with the winds,
Cascading into pools of distant thoughts
Foggy with steams of emotions that
Remind you they were there.
But some do stick with you.
They collect in sandstorms of passion,
Quicksands of regret
And desolate lands of trauma, where nothing
Seems to grow.
You peer through glass walls and watch them drift by
Glossing over every grain and musing over what could’ve or should’ve been.
Eventually it runs out,
And you contemplate if you should let it stay there,
You flip it over and watch it all over again.