T is for Time

For the bank account,
In which each day we are credited with, 86 400.
We are free to use what of it we may.
But at the end of the day, what remains is wiped from our account.
We may not carry it forward.

For the thing that is supposed to be able to heal all wounds, yet doesn't.
But only because you won't let it.

For the things that we cannot reclaim, we cannot undo, or try again.
For the new things that await, may the mistakes of the past remain solely in our memory. May we start a new. The future is waiting. The present is now. We have only forward to go.

I know which direction I'm headed.