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The Time When Time Runs Out

Flying High,

The bird holds no weight for the world.

Swimming low,

The fish knows nothing of the world above.

Keeping time,

The people worry.

They worry as it passes,

As it will pass,

And as it ceases to pass.

The people alone worry.

Such worrisome people…

Such silly people….

And all of their own making.

Do you know what will happen

When time runs out?

I suppose that is the worry.

Will the birds keep flying?

Will the fish keep swimming?

Will the people keep worrying?

Do you know what will happen when time runs out?

Now my nonliving journal, shall I bore you with my day or another disheartening poem? I suppose journals are more commonly used for the first, so I will give it a try like other little girls who grasped at their childhood a little longer than I managed. I long ago lost the childhood songs in my heart. I wonder when I lost those… Nevermind, I have gotten off topic even without a topic to get off of.

My day started off as strangely as ever. I went to get on the train, normally filled with people and children well before I got on, and noticed that there was only one other person riding the train today. I was a man, and please note that I use the term “man” loosely as he couldn’t be older than 22. so clearly he wasn’t going to high school. Although I only glanced at him for momentarily (and only because I was deciding where to sit now that I finally had the choice and wanted to take full advantage of that fact) , it was long enough to notice his distinct, abnormally dark raven hair and innocent, soft features despite his gothic hair. It is unlikely that he is as innocent as his features seem, those faces always seem to be overly misleading.

By the next stop, people were piling in in masses as usual and it didn’t take long for me to lose the ability to have a seat all to myself. Everyone who entered seemed to bring in and fill the train with their apparent unhappiness already present before the day even began.

This concept of writing down the day is ridiculous and frivolous. I already lived this day. There seems to be no real purpose to writing it down. I see no further reason to continue to waste time recounting my day with pen and paper.

I am truly sorry, journal, but it appears that you will not be used properly by me. I am done with this for the day. You will simply have to get used to being used incorrectly.