Slivers of Time

I freeze perfect moments in my mind
And sometimes in quiet live them over and over again
Like watching a video I slip into the past vicariously
There are too many moments like these now
And I fear that I cling on to things substanceless
They disappear, they evaporate, with the ticking of a second they are gone.

As the second hand moves I comfort myself
With the thought that no one else has ever done what I'm doing now
No one else has ever been who I am
No one else can be right in my place right at that moment
And yet it is relentless, this second hand
The time it ticks off is moved away in little slivers
But soon the little slivers add up to a quarter, a third, a whole.

I wish perfect moments could be
the little slivers adding up to a whole of my life
But maybe the bitterest chunks of living
Will cause me to savour perfection more.
And maybe, just maybe
this bitterness is but a part of perfection.