Time, the Rude Visitor
Oluwagbenga Abiola@oluwagbengaabiola322369
1 day ago
Time, the Rude Visitor
Time ticks
because apparently it has nothing better to do
than remind us we’re slowly becoming
expired versions of ourselves.
It strolls in uninvited,
puts its feet on our memories,
and asks,
“So… you still holding on to that?”
Then
like a mischievous landlord
it starts evicting everything:
the bright days,
the sharp laughter,
even the people we swore were permanent.
Our faces?
Oh, they fade beautifully
like cheap ink left in the rain.
Our dreams?
They age like milk, not wine.
And our confidence?
Time sips it like tea.
Hot. Slowly. With enjoyment.
Yet we pretend we’re fine
that we don’t notice how yesterday
slips out the back door
while we smile at tomorrow
like a fool in an arranged marriage.
The saddest part?
Time doesn’t even say sorry.
It just shrugs,
nudges us with another wrinkle,
and continues its marathon
as if we’re not gasping behind it.
But here’s the small, bitter joke:
We still try.
We still love.
We still hope.
Knowing very well that time
is somewhere in the corner
sharpening its scissors,
ready to cut everything loose.
And somehow,
that foolish courage
that stubborn insistence on caring
might be the only thing
time can never quite understand.
written by @oluwagbengaabiola322369
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1 day ago
