The Analogy of the Hourglass

You and I--we're like an hourglass.

You are one side, and I the other.

The sand that flows freely between us is our love.

Each grain another token,

another memento

of our love.

I prefer to keep the hourglass sideways--

call it an obsession,

or a compulsion.

Call it whatever you like,

but it's better that way.

The sand becomes evenly distributed between the hourglass--

there is an equal amount on both sides.

All is well--

time has stopped--

everything is perfection.

But you prefer to keep the hourglass right-side-up--

call it an obsession,

or a compulsion.

Call it whatever you like,

but it's worse that way.

The sand flows all to one side, to the bottom,

and the other side, the top--I,

is left bare

and empty

and hollow

and devoid of all else but perhaps,

if lucky,

the residue of a few grains of sand.

That doesn't seem right.

So I prefer one, and you prefer the other.

Neither will be happy so you decide to compromise--

You take the hourglass from my hand and you smash it on the ground--

call it an obsession,

or a compulsion,

or destruction,

or frustration.

Call it whatever you like,

but it's “better” that way.

Now both sides of the hourglass lay there broken--

shards strewn all over the floor ready to hurt the next person that dares pass by.

The sand flows out of the glass and spreads all over.

Not knowing where to go it just lays there,

and it will continue to do so until the elements wear it away,

and then all will be gone,

and all will be lost.

But isn't that always how it ends?