miles to go, and miles, and miles.

I complained for years about time, the lack of it.

The fragile gossamer of butterfly wings, it crumbled to dust before it was due.

I wanted to thin it out, stretch it, freeze what I could, savor it like rare fruit on my tongue.

I wanted to replay it over and again and take different, more known paths. 

I draped all excess time over you, tucked it around you, warmed you. 

Filled my hours and mind with you, making you, keeping you.

Now what to do with all the excess time?

How cruel that there is nothing but, faded and dull

Jagged pieces that cut my tongue

The dust of it stinging my eyes.

The symmetry is grotesque.

All the time I could ever

Need. And now

Filled with the 

hollow left

By you.