It's crazy how I see every second is ticking – it is now thirteen past eight.
I have got few more hours until midnight. That is when I ideally should go to bed. If these thoughts are not misbehaving. If the hours stop haunting me in fear, that I will soon lose this day to the arms of yesterday, while I do not quite desire tomorrow or the day after. I feel responsibilities are choking me in thin air. My mind is far too busy to breathe. My palms are sweating. My temples are hurting with intense pressure. My inner body is experiencing indescribable heat as if I am boiled on a wood-fired stove.
It is eighteen past eight.
The comfort I am looking is partially here, caressing the side of my neck. My pulse is getting steady. The heat is passing. The contemplation that I wish works as holy as prayers still sit quietly. With the look full of tease, as if it says I am a time-bomb. I could or I could not explode any minute. It comes back again, flashes of responsibilities flashing before my eyes. Tick tock, tick tock. Today is slipping away to the arms of yesterday, while I do not desire tomorrow or the day after. But in all fairness, all I have is now, and I am wasting it all away to the sound of ticking clock.
It is twenty five past eight.
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