2022-05-30
Tik, tik, tik
It's flowing! Or is it?
Multiple consequences, resulted from different decisions,
to here, I started writing a poem.
Some say the flow is linear,
but I like to assume it's not.
I like to compare it to how Huygens described light.
The wavelets of time forming from each moment,
different from others, multiple realities.
The branching is what makes it exciting,
the assumption that my universe is different,
it's mine.
What if I had not started writing this poem.
Would there be another instance of this universe?
Where I am writing this exact poem?
What is the other me writing?
Is he fantasizing time like I'm doing?
Or is "she" writing a poem for her crush?
Time is un-describable, it's un-graspable.
We are bound in time, a very, very short time.
Time makes us happy,
A short time with her.
It makes us sad,
A short time with her.
It makes us beg,
A short time with her.
.
.
.
Time, it's a nasty thing.
Ah, wait! It's 9:49 already?
Aww crap! I'm Late for college!