Anxiety

I'm not sleeping. Only yesterday did I realize how fast Time runs--he's an Olympic sprinter by profession. His long strides are galloping across the spread of seconds, minutes, hours, days, and I need him to slow down, I need to run faster than he does, however misguided or impossible that is.

My dreams laugh haughtily at me, a laugh from the belly that surges out of a fat and demented king: The day will come, and there is nothing you can say or do.

It's wrong to fear the passage of time, each day brings another sun, another breath, another opportunity. But I want to enjoy the Sun of May for a while longer.