Sunday Mornings

The months have fallen to weeks. The weeks have succumbed to days. The days will dwindle to mere hours. I deluded my (otherwise) logical mind into thinking I held time itself in the palm of my greedy hands. I swore we would have all the time we needed. But I can still hear the clock's annoying tick and tock as the hand keeps moving, mocking me. We stand embracing on your front porch, the heaviness of inevitable goodbyes weighing on our aching shoulders.

I will see you tomorrow evening and the early morning of the next day but nothing more after that.