Twelve Mintues to Day
Minutes from now, history will repeat itself.
Feelinngs and actions will be created, then brushed off to the past.
Time will stay a routine of sleep and wake - live and die.
But none of that matters.
Because its the memories that tell you the past is of importance, right?
Speaking on those regards
then, if only I could just -
Go back one minute to re-speak the words spoken and re-live the despair I had just felt.
If I could only just rewind two years before, and warn myself of the future I've become.
Then three moments and
four feelings later -
I would not be submerged in the escaping image of you.
Not spending five minutes
to pity and victimize myself at the thought of losing the thought of
Six times have I faltered and struggled, at the very sight of you but even that would not matter.
How can numbers matter,
when seven monthes and eight days have passed by without a concern in
Since then, I've befriended apathy and disregarded nine - the month of your birthday
What ten and eleven equates to, I've yet to comprehend.
But I know that twelve
minutes later, time will etch into history and strike a new day.
The x-th day of y-month in the year two-thousand z.
Still, nothing will
Not this firm conviction I have for you, or the naivety of my sheer, stubborn will.