Time creeps when pain is fresh, extending life into something a little less bearable. But when the sting wears off, time begins to run again. Quiet and unnoticed. We hardly think of how long those nights had been or the amount of tears wasted. Not until those hands grind to a halt once more, and we’re left staring at nothing with an aching chest and the thought of tomorrow.
I knew then, that time hated us all.