Time Works So Hard For Us, If

I Am, Of Course, Romanticizing; A Chronic Tendency Of Mine.

I’m The Least Fanciful Guy Around, But On Nights When I Wonder Whether There Was Any Point To My Day, I Think About This: The First Thing We Ever Did, When We Started Turning Into Humans, Was Draw A Line Across The Cave Door And Say: Wild Stays Out. What I Do Is What The First Men Did. They Built Walls To Keep Back The Sea. They Fought The Wolves For The Hearth Fire.

We Were Still At The Age When Girls Are Years Older Than Guy, And The Guys Grow Up By Doing Their Best When The Girls Need Them To.

But Give Me More Credit Than That. Someone Else May Have Dealt The Hand, But I Picked It Up Off The Table, I Played Every Card, And I Had My Reasons.

Real Isn't What They Try To Tell You. Time Isn't. Grown-ups Hammer Down All These Markers, Bells, Schedules, Coffee-breaks, To Stake Down Time So You'll Start Believing It's Something Small And Mean, Something That Scrapes Flake After Flake Off Of Everything You Love Till There's Nothing Left; To Stake You Down So You Don't Lift Off And Fly Away, Somersaulting Through Whirlpools Of Months, Skimming Through Eddies Of Glittering Seconds, Pouring Handfuls Of Hours Over Your Upturned Face.