Little Hands

I fear the passage of time. How years ago I imagined my life to be at this age and how a year used to feel much longer, how three hours used to feel significant. Now I wish for time to pass and when I want time to move slowly it seems to move much quicker. I hold onto the idea of things getting better just to get me through the night. I worry that not much will ever change, even with the good things in my life it seems that I get too tired of the same thing but also cannot come to grips with the fear of change. It’s as if I cannot handle the now, or the idea of the future and my memory of the past is always fading.