Every second that passes is another grain of sand in your hourglass that is gone, forever lost in time.
The sand in the hourglass runs from one compartment to the other, marking the passage of moments with something constant and tangible. If you watch the flowing sand, you might see time itself riding the granules. Contrary to popular opinion, time is not an old white-haired man, but a laughing child. And time sings.
They continued across the seemingly endless sands, watering every grain with their sweat, anointing every granule with their strain. In the hourglass of time the sands continued to shift, and they couldn't find their way outside the glass. Their shadows struggled with them, hauling and heaving, dropping with them, and clambering up with them, and reminding them constantly that otherwise they were alone.
