Sunday, March 1, 2026
I wrote my thoughts on the essence of time, but lost them in editing and while trying to rhyme.
I must’ve thought I’d have the time, to write the peculiar nature of it, like when trying to grab moments from my back pockets, and my hand would come out artificially snakebitten.
One summer morning, I thought I had more time after dreaming, but it was only minutes through snoozing.
If it ever seems directly in front of me, any effort to reach for it exposes its illusion.
After all, the only ‘time’ we see is on the wall, phone screens, or moments we’re looking back, and all that’s remembered is the time we’ll never get back.
-Budd
This Is Where BuddWrites 