Flyovers. Stopovers.

Fill me with fine sand, like I’m an hourglass. In that way, I can decide how slow, how fast will the time pass. I decide when to go upside down. I decide when to end and start all over again.

 

Fine sands, without any traces of tiny rocks.

Fine sands, without any traces of a droplet from the rain you danced with.

Fine sands, without passing all your sins inside it.

Fine sands, so that I may feel that everything will just be fine, though the gravity decides to pull every bit at 9.8 m/s², whatever the numbers would be.

 

I will decide the time to not let you waste it. The time that you will be honest… it’s what you owe me. Until then, I can say your time is up, unless you put more and make the most out of it.

————————————————————————–
Disclosures after Midnight. 14-02-2017
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Author: Macoi Garcia

Storyteller. Writes for what my heart and mind says.

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