By Mia Bains (
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When I think of you,
I think in two ways;
Firstly cold and impassive,
Abstract from the realities of my future life
Secondly hot and protective,
My future life flits between my fingers
Like elusive threads of gold,
Far too fragile for my callous hands.

When I think of you,
I hope that with every new chapter of our life
You twist out of those sordid layers
Of undeserving guilt,
Like a serpent crawling out of its faded scaly skin.

When I think of you,
Questions arrive in never ending streams
Yet; I’m in two states of mind,
Battling my morbid curiosity against my blistering fear
I desperately crave to know,
Whether all those hours of work
Have poured into something paramount.
Or have they dissipated away
Like clouds on a sunny day?
Of course,
I’m still terrified of the lingering tang
Of disappointment,
That we haven’t quite yet ticked all the boxes ,
On our endless bucket list.

Future me, if anything remember,
Life is not just empty boxes waiting to be ticked,
Life; she makes no promises.
Nor does she guarantee that we will rise,
To see the coruscating sunlight of tomorrow’s dawn

So, please,
Don’t fool yourself into thinking.
You can halt the wheels of time
And manipulate your destiny around your desires.
After all,
Clinging to the hands of an ever-turning clock.
Will not stop them from ticking on


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