Time.

Do we really master time or does time master us?

Time,the slow grinder, the one that awaits all. Time,the one who feeds on love and memory, the one who destroys all. Time,the one who hides in patios full of potted plants, who sleeps in dark corners, who remembers you and me, faces, names and all. Time,never a slave, always our stern master. Time,the one whom we lost playing long ago in a now empty garden, meeting once in a while, in cities we hated and loved. Time,the one we betrayed not once but twice, the one who has forgiven us out of pity,not of love. .