The seconds keep ticking away, my life moving past so quickly- and it’s so easy to see when you have a fucking hourglass tattooed on your arm, and the sand moves every second, showing me exactly how long I have left.
It’s a curse, and a punishment, and I hate it. I wish I could carve it off my skin. And I have tried, believe me. It does not work, just hurts like a bitch and then heals as if nothing had happened.
Sometimes the weight of all these seconds left is too much. Sometimes the thought of living for this long is a terrible burden, as I watch the sand trickle through, knowing I have nothing and no-one to occupy my seconds. And sometimes it feels frantic, like too little time is left to me, and how can I fulfil any dreams with such a tiny amount of time?
But I don’t have any dreams left, really. It’s funny how an awareness of the magnitude of the universe and your exact place in it can trivialise your dreams, make you realise how worthless everything is. It’s a wonder how anyone fights this fear, this crippling realisation, how anyone even gets out of bed.
Then again, no-one really knows. Everyone else is oblivious, content to live their tiny meaningless existences. Their eyes are closed to the realities, to their insignificant lives. And they can survive.
But my eyes were opened. I was made aware. And it’s difficult to forget that when you have fucking tattoo of your seconds ticking away.
By Maura Kenny
(prompt: picture of hourglass tattoo)