Sand Timer

Life is like a sand timer. It's been set before me to watch and as I do, I see each grain fall. I feel each second pass. I watch the timer carefully, awaiting the moment when the sand runs out. Fearing the second before. What will death be like? Whatever it is, I'm not ready for it. I don't want it. And each year, I am reminded of the fact that I am dying. I am dying every second that I live. Like an incurable disease. One that I can feel ripping me away every time someone tells me how old I am. They think it's a compliment and I thank them, though inside it's like they've struck the match. Fire tries to eat me from the inside out when they tell me how big I am. How grown up and mature. When they remind me I'll be going to collage in three years, I feel the disease gain an inch. I watch the sand drop extra fast into the bottom of my timer. And I fight hard not to cry right there. Because this disease is winning. Of the many things I've fought, this of all things is killing me. It taunts me every day, nagging at the back of my mind. Like a school bully pushing me to my limits.