Unattended Minutes

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As time slips, you are left to wonder whether you're allowing it to pass in the right direction, if you're steering it too harshly or letting it go an inch too loosely wherever it wishes, like a balloon full of air, released to discover the room, way too excitedly for a piece of non-biodegradable matter to behave. What's become of the minutes that escaped from your tight grip, but especially the ones you've placed on the lane to play. Do you look back, to see how far they've run, or if they remained where you set them? Too anxious to glance at the product of your investment, avoiding eye contact, after all - it could be shrivelled, left unattended for too long. 

To unlearn being cautious of letting them go, of being too careful to allow organic freedom, vines to spread its tentacles, where noone could guess they'd decorate their way to.

If you knew there wasn't room for redemption, would minutes be sent with no curfew, without limits to explore the yard, fabrics of the family room's sofa? Perhaps minutes would be collected carefully like dew drops with a dropper, with utmost compassion into a glass jar to keep. But they evaporate.