Gia Raquel

The hours seem longer when you look at the clock and realize it’s too late for good night. Each minute feels whole rather than the New York minute we constantly live and breathe by.

Maybe it’s because I’m tired and my brain wishes to focus less on the constant reminder of fleeing life.

But as I write I don’t worry of how it’s leaving so soon. I worry that I’m going to have to watch it tick alone and no one is here to see the little click of change that occurs in this morning.

I fear for the speed of light that is our life, our time once we fall to the dreams and nightmares, and after we wake up we just wish to retreat to our darkness and lightning sceneries only we can see.

One can hope you look at the clock and think of how dark it is outside. And just peek at a window to spy on that star you wanted to wish upon, but lost sight of because the car was going too fast and you couldn’t wish quick enough.