Fixed Purpose

All you have is time. Time that seeps, time that weeps... time that crawls into your crevices and chews on your memories. Moments of breath and woe, moments of laughter and light. Drifting off to sleep, starting awake. Every moment of your short life, how much can you feel? How much can you share? Is hiding an option? Or will time bring you into alignment after your self-imposed dislocation? Abruptly set right, the universe shifts into full focus, with time ticking, ticking, ticking... eyelids fluttering like delicate wings that, if you follow the line down to the body, are attached by constellation and with immeasurable fortitude.