Do you sit by the clock? I never see you there, perhaps my timing is off. When the days feel like years I know you’re working to make things right. I try giving up when nothing goes my way, but you have a way of presenting that same package in the future. While the anxiety swells up and torments me from the inside out, you sit by with time in your hands. I notice that the past resides in your left hand while the future resides in the right. I ask you “where’s the present?” and to that you laugh. The present is only in your hands. And to that I laugh.