The hourglass

It radiates differently.

The way the golden sand swiftly falls from one side of the crystal clear glass to the other and stopping abruptly before touching my fingertips. It's an endless action trapped in a capsule of barriers and hopeless hope yet it flows...the sand flows from one side to the other and it goes fast and then slow...fast and slow again. How cruel that I am given the power to control a powerful thing which lies powerless in my hand.

How cruel that it begs in deafening silence to be placed on a surface strong enough to hold its weight and sturdy enough to keep its balance. Such a fragile object with no purpose among the latest technology yet it seeks so much care.

And I've had one too. I have tormented it and left it dizzy in the kitchen cupboard on the farthest left that holds all the things to be forgotten. It will collect dust in a few months. It will pull at all sides of my muddled brain to find an identity for the dusty misshaped object I will find in the cupboard in the future. Then it would fly out of the thunderstorm of my thoughts like a bat in the night.

It radiates the same energy.

The same frequency I feel about myself after you threw me in a cupboard in the farthest left of your life.

I cut myself on the cracks you left me with every day.

How cruel am I to the hourglass.
How cruel am I to my fragile self.

-HP*