The minute ticking // of every minute’s movement // has got me wishing // it would just slow down // Responsibilities are distracting // friends are surpassing // and life is just laughing // You see, it’s hard to concentrate and live in the moment when every second is a moment’s past.

Perhaps they call it a wrinkle in time because when the clock tick, tocks, tic, talks // it locks // you into a growing fine line // Just to remind // that time is infinite while you and I are not.

From fine lines // we are knots // too stubborn to let go of what time takes away // we are knots // entangled in ourselves and pulled on tight. – at MTR Fortress Hill Station 炮台山站

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