If You Lose Me, It Will Be To Time

Braden Barwich
Braden Barwich

If you lose me, it will be to time.
The grains of an hourglass drain away slowly.
Still, few rub together creating enough friction to start a fire.
We’re from a place where it rains a lot
So I guess we’re used to the drizzle of an aimless day, and with it the mist precipitating as steam from the heat of our dreams.
Our bodies are warm.
Your ear on my chest and we’re creating a wall between us and the storm outside.
Amidst the sounds of pounding wind you say that you only hear my heart.
Could be that they’re one in the same.
Could be that we’re walking a path through the northern trees from which the hanging moss gives passage to only the bravest bits of dying daylight.
The setting sun crowns the mountain just past the forest as Night reclaims what’s hers with shadows that wrap like fingers around old growth that sets itself deep in ancient earth.
We arrive at a place where the path splits, a serpents tongue to make us choose.
Through no exchange of words do we understand what happens next.
The last things that touch are our fingertips as you take one path and I the other.
Though the paths are different and wind in their own ways, twisting to tell their respective stories, they meet at the same place.
That mountain before us, the one we must climb.
But Whether it be ten years or twenty know that we will meet there to climb it together.
Because if you lose me, it will be to time and his old friend death.
And its only the power of that handshake and pact they made so long, ago that could part me from you.

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