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Time slips through open hands like blood through veins. It's flows silently and at the mercy of its own wit. Tiny increments measured by the smile placed on a face, laugh shared, conversations forgotten. The beauty of time is that it stops for no one. Stands seductively still at the ends of your fingers just where you can reach and hope that you can push it forward. Runs harshly against your beating heart, competing versus the joy high in your soul, suffocating and full even though very soft with memories that you're soon to make.

Time should forgo being measured in minutes and in hours and save it for sunrises and sunsets. The ooey dripping colors that drown the sky in hues of oranges and reds and yellows, colors that seem real only in imagination.

In time, exists two. One grasping on to nihlism with a hint of optimism. Seemingly swirling in pretty colors of obsidian black, like the night sky before the beginning of the shining gold flecks hinting at the swell of the sun. A conflict within himself, but pretty all the same. A reminder of the sunrises that time somehow withdraws

The other drenched in the warmth that the sun brings when it arises, sleepy drunk under it's wasted time of being away. Soft with wholesome colors that hug. That hold. That grasp. Though never pull. She reminds of the barely orange colors that drip in slow and steady and hold you mounted to your feet as you watch the sun behold it's beauty.

She is the warmth of the barely rising sun, while he is the moments before in the shimmering cold. Hearts molded and hopeful.

They mold to each other glimmering in the eve hours of the day, a 3am chase of the sun. The world is flat and pushed out before them, unreal in it's realness. The unsteady gravel under the 2$ dollar throw blanket shifts under them as his lips connect to her neck.

The wide cliff of the the mountain, bare and covered with sparse patches of grass. It somehow held importance. It felt bigger than them. Over the cliff shown darkness deep and thick. Larger than the sky. It seemed to run forever. Like the line of when the ocean meets the sky no one can really discern. Things like that couldn't matter while his lips met hers.

Nothing could matter when he held her this close. The way his hands felt on her. The way the world actually fell away. She was pliant and giving under his taking hands. She wondered if she could breathe with his tongue in her mouth. Then almost immediately he grabs her hands from around his waist and puts them above her heard and she can't really remember thinking anything.

She was so beautiful under him. He didn't know if he could ever let her go. He kissed everywhere he could reach and slowly he wondered why they had on so many clothes. His hands strained to keep hers away. The kind of pretty words they uttered and the love that they shared quietly. It almost rivaled the sun's beauty.

The sun rose late that day. Deep with orange and yellow and the soft pretty blue of the new day.

He held her. She held him. Clothes were for gone in the desperate attempt to feel each other as close as they could. The ground was still unsettled rock. The security of the dark was washing away. Though they let the warmth if the rising sun hold them too.

Maybe next time they could wait for a sunset.