Time
Time is an illusion.
But I still hate it.
I watch the months,
Weeks,
Days,
Hours,
Minutes,
Even seconds
Until you're here with me.
Time is teaseing me.
Slowly creeping by.
Tick...tock...tick...tock...
Why must I suffer from this illusion?
I must be hated.
Or is it just to make the time spent with you more presious?
If time is moving so slowly now,
Will it move fast when you're here?
Or will it move even slower?
I wish we could escape into a world all our own,
Where nothing could interfer with our perfect illusionless world.
