Time slips by like sand through my fingers;

I desperately try to stop the grains leaving, my scrabbling fingers reaching out, until I know it’s too late.

Moments come and go, leaving me with only seconds to figure out my next steps.

I tread gently, careful not to wake the minutes that already leave briskly.

So much time, yet so little.

The grains dance, darting in and out in and out, oblivious to the fact that every turn they take whips a minute, a second, out of my grasp.

The dance continues, twisting, turning, shifting, yearning, until all I have left is one grain.

A grain.

A grain of time.

A second to think.