The hourglass is yet again bowed to assume its original position; and once more, the age-old dust begins to sink down to the bottom rim of the glass. I kneel on the ground, staring into its depths,
wondering how long it will be until next time. Like a time bomb, the hourglass seems to tick; a countdown until I have to go through this again. Worrisome, I touch the fragile shield around the
powder that is the glass. Will it break? I test it. But it holds its own- for now that is. I wonder how long until this happens again. But I was taught to enjoy love while it lasted. If it
disappeared, I would have regretted not using it when I had it. That’s the advice I always give now. I suppose I have a problem with “practicing what I preach.” What does it matter, though?
The thought still puzzles me as I stand up. I smile as the old, squeaky floor creaks beneath my toes. I always admired my old attic. It was what I liked to think of as the metaphor for my heart.
Old and dilapidated, but still fully-functional; even if no one notices it. I swayed over to the small window that lay over several boxes. I pause only to wipe away the dust and cobwebs with my
sleeve so I can see. My skin crawls and I shiver- cobwebs remind me of spiders. I can’t stand spiders…
Outside there was a beautiful mountain that I tried countless times to sketch. It never came out the way I wanted it to. Then again, what does? It seems like everything good is unexpected and the
things you try at don’t turn out the way you’d like. My chest ached- a sign that it was tired from housing my heavy heart. Constantly adding pounds, because heartbreak adds weight. I remember a
couple years ago when my heart was lighter than a feather. I was truly happy. But one after another, boy after boy… my heart became heavier until it became what it is now. Now I don’t even take
chances like I used to because I’m scared that if my heart gets any heavier, my chest won’t be able to contain it and it will spill out into my palms.
I retreat back into the attic, glaring at the hourglass on the table. Time had run out. So soon, I thought. Quicker than normal, in fact. I take it in my hands and rub my fingers against the glass
adoringly. This hourglass is all I have left.
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