# The Regret Of Time I have wasted the days like a prodigal son squanders his father's gold— each morning a fresh coin pressed into the palm of forgetting. The hours slip through my fingers like water, like silk, like the last breath of someone I should have held closer. Time does not knock before entering. It simply arrives, settles into the room, and before I can offer it tea, it has already left. I measure my life now in all the words I didn't speak, the doors I didn't open, the small kindnesses that remained locked in my chest like letters never sent. The clocks are honest in their cruelty— they do not pretend the past can be redeemed, do not offer second chances in their mechanical hearts. Yet still I reach backward, a fool grasping at smoke, as if regret itself were a kind of time machine, as if sorrow could reverse the seasons. But the calendar turns only one way, and I am left here, counting the cost of my numbness, learning too late that the greatest poverty is the unlived moment, the unspoken name, the love that arrived too slowly, dressed in the rags of yesterday.

I must forget the sweetest dream
When I see your desires have turned away from me,
When I taste the nectar upon your lips
While your shadow rises in the dark.

I must forget the sweetest dream
Though your intoxicating scent lingers in me,
Though I remain lightless in the darkness that swallows all—
Oppressive suffering that drowns the mind in madness.

In the deep and fathomless forgetting,
I recall the light you would not share beside me,
Reliving those kisses you must have buried away,
Helplessly dragging the past toward me with empty hands.

Walking without aim or compass,
Begging for one moment of grace
Where my ache for your beauty might ease,
And your sigh—merciful soul—might finally set me free.

Regret falls relentlessly through time,
Shattering memory into numberless shards
Like dust that traces itself upon the wind,
And now I remember my reason—so far, so lost.

Your skin, a remnant of what we were—
That secret happiness we once held,
That tangle you faithfully deny, devoted to its erasure,
Trying to lose it like a ship sunk in the deep.

You have denied me your warmth on this cold night
While he sleeps cradled against your burning heart,
You have cast me adrift, lost and blind,
While he lives feasting on your love and its overflow.

If only I could return to those green eyes
With their deep golden depths,
To where our lips hovered at the rim of the glass,
And my hands chased yours through endless time.