What Now?

Honey you came in like a thief and what you have stolen is a minute of my time, a minute of which I can never take back. Twas only a minute, nothing much. But God, I miss that minute. Yet it was not a minute of emptiness, it was a minute where I actually believed in wishful thinking and happy endings, new beginnings and sweet surrenderings I faintly remember when I first graduated from young adulthood (barely, ambiguously). That minute of madness, messages implied and mundane banter occured, do I regret it? No, apparently I do not. I enjoyed you waking me up at witching hours to talk about mules and maniacs. It makes me smile to hear your sense and sensibilities. And I particulary loved your approach on the theory of everything where everything is something but nothing. And you, you are my ticket to travel time — all you need is my minute. Yet I’ve lost my minute with you, a minute I gave without knowing what you expected to do with my minute. The minute I’ve given to return the many, many minutes I want back. And it’s gone. What did I expect?