Another day goes by
A week, a month, then a season
They always say time flies
But they never tell us the reason
I’m writing a letter to Time
Asking why I should believe him
When he says “Child of mine,
I swear your youth is never leaving”

Only ten days remain
Until my teenage years are over
By now, my mind has been trained
To count the petals on my clovers
And see wonder in the rain
Not just the beauty that’s leftover
I was drunk on guilt and pain
But I think I’m finally sober

Because I see my past and future with astounding clarity
I mapped out my next five years, I won’t let purpose be a rarity
Reconnecting with my passions, so my inner flame burns daily
Sailing a boat of my ambitions, confident that it won’t fail me

In this age of forward thinking, our hindsight we’re sure to lose
So I’ve been delving through history, tapping into my Nordic roots
Finding our minds, bodies, and stories are all shaped by Time’s passage
We grow with each rose that blooms and every wave that crashes

But not all can be romanticized
Not everything’s idealistic
Over half my life I’ve fantasized
Now is it time to be realistic?
Each day I look more like my father
And act more like my mom
With all the wisdom that I’ve gathered
Can my youth really be gone?

With all the moments I’ve collected
I feel rich in Time’s currency
With all the thoughts I’ve dissected
To stop my mind from hurting me
I feel seasoned, I feel weathered
By my newly formed maturity
Yet I remain partially tethered
To my inner child’s purity

Time, why are we molded by curses and blessings from youth?
Why do we spend our fleeting days seeking impossible truths?
How do we know when the time for which we strive has arrived?
And how can we fully acknowledge the privilege of being alive?

If I am the man my younger self always dreamed I’d become
Then why do I feel as though my story arc has barely begun?
And why the hell is each year so much shorter than the last?
Plans become moments, moments become memories of the past

And is there a reason for death?
When a soul departs, do flowers grow by the grave that’s left?
Do you mend the wound of a heart tumbling out of a chest?
’Til I know, I cannot rest

And what is the purpose of loss?
To love a living being, why must you assign a cost?
Why can’t you grant every wish tied to these coins we toss?
Am I not meant to have these thoughts?

Why do we feel such stress?
The weight we carry on our backs is needlessly immense
Why must we feel the world depends on our success?
The truth is so much less

What’s the point of wars fought?
The heavy heads, calloused hands, and ink blots?
We all run from nothingness until we get caught
Is meaning just a facade?

Perhaps the flipping of calendar pages amounts to very little
Maybe the answers we seek are part of an unsolvable riddle
But dwindling years, faces soaked in tears, and blissful cheers
Bring us something more sincere than a purpose that’s clear

Time, you give us well-earned love and powerful connections
You give us revelations on life’s wondrous imperfections
You grant us growth and a place in the cycles of existence
We plead for you to stand still, but require your resistance

There are lessons rolled in rainclouds
And truths in scathing summers
As these holidays all fall away
Hopes for stagnation sink under
We are free-falling through open skies
With no parachute instructions
In these frighteningly brief lives
We must make our own deductions

But there lies the secret, I suppose
Everyone speaks it, yet no one knows
How to live without bounds and baggage
And make it through each daunting passage
Accept that some moments will be lost
Vows will break, lines will be crossed
Despite efforts from young and old
Time, you can’t be tamed or controlled