Time Flies, But Words Stay

Time flies,  
a blur of days,  
and still, I write—  
pages and pages,  
pens bleeding onto paper,  
words spilling out  
like a river without an end.

I’ve written my heart out—  
broken pieces,  
unspoken fears,  
and thoughts I can’t quite name,  
but need to let go of,  
just to breathe.

Some days,  
it feels like I’m chasing the clock—  
where did the time go?  
What have I done with it?  
Why does it feel like the world  
is moving faster than I can keep up?  
But when I write,  
I catch the moments,  
the scattered feelings,  
the confusion that lingers.

I’ve been writing in notebooks,  
in empty spaces,  
in the quiet corners of my mind,  
searching for something  
I’m not sure how to find.  
And maybe that’s okay.  
Maybe I don’t need all the answers right now.  
Maybe the writing is enough.

But today,  
I’m not in a good mood—  
I’m frustrated,  
tired of the questions I can’t answer,  
tired of wondering  
why my heart feels so heavy  
when I can’t seem to let go.  
So I’ll write it out,  
again,  
and again.  
Let the ink carry what I can’t speak aloud,  
and maybe,  
just maybe,  
in the writing,  
I’ll find some peace.