Can you give me 5 more minutes?

Can I do it later?

Can we do it another time? 

Questions whispered by children,

by procasinators,

by anyone begging time to slow down.

To me, those words meant nothing.

Time was endless.

What harm, could another day possibly do?

“Do you want to come to grandmas?” My mother would ask.

“Maybe another time.” I’d reply.

Looking back on it, there’s not a place in the world I’d rather be than in that house.

What do you mean there’ll never be a “next time”?

I didn’t know the last time, would be the “last time”.

It didn’t feel important enough to remember.

There wasn’t a warning, nor a sign,

just a normal day, in which I beg to relive

Now, I must sit and ponder.

Now, “later” feels heavy.

Now, I must listen to the regrets of the past.

The regrets, that fill the memory of where laughter used to live.

I thought time was patient.

Unfortunately, it is just as impatient as one can be.

Now, I understand

I cannot change the past,

but I can shape the future.

No “later” can ever be taken back,

as “later” is a goodbye you are to never realize,

until it finally shows itself to be, too late.

Later is a door that doesn’t make a sound.

It closes softly,

while your voice echos, “later”.

By the time you turn the handle,

the house is quiet, the door is no more.

You realize, there was never a “later”.