The Hourglass
He loved me before I broke.
Back when he could hold me
and my shattered pieces would
remain whole,
instead of slipping through his fingers
like weightless sand.
He loved me.
But his hands
were the orifice of the hourglass,
and when the last grain of my sanity
fell
to his feet,
he knew—
our time was up.
Copyright © Wren Slaney | Year Posted 2025
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