"Erosion"

Time is a constant.

Time cannot be stopped, controlled or altered in any manner; no matter how hard we try. Because time is exactly what it chooses to be when it chooses to be.

Time is patient.

Time erodes all.

Time always wins.

As I sit here with this diary and pen in hand, I know exactly what I want to write about. I want to describe feeling.

I want to describe the feel of that cool summer breeze on my skin, the feeling of the wind lightly blowing through my hair, the feeling of my leg lightly brushing against the grains of sand beneath me and the almost still water of the sea lightly lapping up against my feet, the feeling of my girlfriend’s head resting against my shoulder as she enjoys the peace.

But I can't.

Maybe I could describe what I hear?

I could describe the sound of the waves lightly sweeping over the shore, the sound of this pen scribbling against the paper, the sound of the city life behind me, cars travelling alongside the beach, people laughing and joking as they enjoy the parties, the sound of her lightly breathing as she almost slumbers off to sleep.

I can't describe that either.

Maybe I could describe sights?

Like the sight of the moon high in the night sky; full and shining down upon me, the sight of the sea looking almost pitch black when compared to the glittering of the sky, the sight of the yellow colour of the sand looking dulled over by the darkness of night, the sight of her long red hair slightly masking her eyes as the back of it lightly flows in the wind.

Even that I can't describe,

I can't describe it because it's the past now.

It's been and gone.

I could talk about what I hope to happen next. I could talk about how I hope to stay here a little longer and then retreat back to our hotel room. To lay there besides the woman I love and watch her fall asleep. Or perhaps just stay here and watch the sun come up?

I can't talk about what I expect...because it will never come.

The past has been eroded away.

The future isn't coming.

I can talk about the present though.

I can talk about how I feel nothing, because there is nothing. There is no cool feeling to my skin, there is no wind sweeping through my hair, there is no feeling of sand rubbing against me, nor is there any feeling of water or my girlfriend.

I can talk about how I hear nothing. There are no sounds of waves to be heard, no sound of the city life, there is not even the sound of this pen scribbling away and the papers turning…my girlfriend is silent.

I can talk about how I see nothing around me. The blackness of the sea is not the sea at all…but a vast void waiting to engulf me. The sand beneath me is grey and lifeless, as though the colour has been drained from it. My girlfriend's hair is not within eye sight because she isn’t either.

There is no ground but the patch of lifeless grey...remains...that I sit upon.

Remains of a world swallowed by darkness. No...saying world is an understatement.

The sky above, there isn't a single star or even the moon there. One by one they twinkled out as I sat there and watched everything fade away around me. My girlfriend never noticed; her eyes were shut the entire time.

While I continued to write away...that compulsion to write even as one is being devoured.

Devour is the wrong term. Eroded works better.

Time is a constant.

Time can not be stopped, controlled or altered in any manner; no matter how hard we try. Because time is exactly what it chooses to be when it chooses to be.

Time is patient.

Time erodes all.

Time always wins.

This is the end of time. The end of everything

The quiet claims us all.




i dont want to g