That time coming full circle.
You don’t know what has been stolen
Until you find the time
To make it home.
There’s no-one standing beside you.
No-one to see what you’re missing
Or what you’re missed.
The hold in the contract
And the contraction.
You hold those precious things
But memory isn’t a record.
It’s a runout groove.
Skipping across lines that wear the needle.
What you need you can’t replay.
One thing I’ve learnt is the good thing you have right now isn’t going to stay.
Making the most of time isn’t easy when it’s slipping out of your hands.
Every precious moment
Is too difficult to recognise
Because you have to let it go.
You’ll always lose what you love.
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