“𝓢𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓢𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰”

we met again,

time and i,

this Tuesday.

coffee this time,

black, no cream.

*

it sat across from me

with wrinkled hands

and young eyes,

tapping its watch

but never in a hurry.

*

we didn’t talk much.

just sipped,

watched the years

walk past the window

wearing sand on skin

dog hair on clothes

*

“remember her?”

time asked,

pointing at

a version of me

wearing woe

like perfume.

*

i nodded.

smiled.

didn’t flinch.

*

“you’ve aged well,”

time said.

not like a compliment.

more like a fact.

more like a mirror

that doesn't lie

but doesn’t judge either.

*

i asked if it ever slowed down.

it laughed.

told me

time isn’t stopping, doesn't end.

then told me

wisdom comes

in sips, not years.

*

and as the cup emptied

i smiled -

not for the girl i was,

but the woman

who’s still

steeping.