The clock hums its steady tune,
pages turn, drinks mix, the world blues green.
Yesterday’s thoughts stay the same,
and the day folds neatly into itself,
waking me to the same roads, the same skies.
Again, I tell myself, save this for later.
But where do all my what ifs go?
Lost, maybe, in the rhythm of routine,
forgotten before I can hold them close.
Time rushes when it wants to,
and I love the way it runs.
Tomorrows still wait in my mind,
while yesterdays drift just out of reach.