Don't go! I want to cry out to you. I know it would be futile.

When we anticipate, we wish the time away,
counting down days and hours that seem too long
like the weeks and months ahead of us might never pass,
like the goal we both crave might never be achieved.
Time drags his feet as though tired, uninterested
in us two who depend on his rapid movement.
We look forward to every morning;
every rising sun brings us one day closer to our meeting.

Once we conjugate, the universe quickens,
the time we wished away we now wish to stop still
as it speeds all-too-quickly towards the end, free-fall
of seconds and minutes rushing over our heads, uncaught.
Time leaps forward, as though refreshed, renewed
though we plead for him to slow, to rest, to stop a while.
We dread each new, shining morning;
every rising sun brings us one day closer to our parting.

When we dissipate, we start again, that countdown
anticipation renewed, and Time resumes his too-slow wander
toward the next time we meet, too distant to conceive.
So our lives continue, in this lopsided lame-horse canter
with his trot and gallop so unfairly placed, for us,
our time apart too lengthy, our time together too brief.
One day the spaces between sunrises will be neither too long
nor too short, for every sunrise will find us together.

Don't go! I want to cry, the unfairness of Time's cruel games.
There is only a promise, that one day he will not have us in his hold.