You would whisper into my heart waking me up long before Mother Nature woke up and blearily stumbled out of her bed, leaving behind particles of dew that fell from her covers onto her soft, green mattress.  You would square dance with me through the day and would never let me go, even when my feet begged for the sweet idea of rest. As night fell, your rhythm changed to a sophisticated, elegant waltz that seemed like it would be played at a ball. You would fashion me gowns fit for a queen and I would wear the night, Ursa Major and Minor woven with silver thread against rich Prussian blue. You would string the stars together and weave them through my hair, you would take your wand and place it between the bridge of my nose, replacing my eyes with gleaming diamonds. A princess fit for her prince.I would go to the ball, lifting up the creaking wooden windows one inch at a time, placing one delicate foot after the other onto the fading shingles of the porch roof. My carriage waited, the most exquisite of them all. Rust red painted, ancient, gas-guzzling beauty. You took me to my prince and I talked the night away. I eventually lost you, only to find you the next morning at the side of my bed, sitting, waiting to dance with me again.

Some days, it was bad. You and I wouldn't get along. On those days, you would hurt me worse than any other days of my life. One of those days was when I sat in the corner of my closet rocking back and forth to the rhythm made from the bombs my parents threw at one another, you slowed down speech, making the word “Divorce” feel longer and heavier than two syllables.

My cosmos shifted, our rhythms changed, and during our dance, you pushed me and I fell. When you reached out your hand to help I hesitated. Eventually, I stood up on my own, forgave you and the music seemed to magically crescendo around us, the rhythm played once more like it had never stopped in the first place.

But you pushed me again.

It was even worse the day you took her away. I could still feel the malleable mud in the palm of my hands from the fairy mud houses her and I built under the trees when I held her in an embrace for the last time, tears cascading down my face in front of the C terminal. It makes me mad that you bought the closest of my friends together and took them away doing a messy job of slapping on band-aids in places where there were once gaping wounds.
You betrayed me, told me you were going to be there forever but you were there the longest for the most painful parts but left quick like a fleeting smile when joy catches the eye for a fraction of a second during the moments I wanted to hold onto forever.

During the darkest of times, you would torture me, stretch yourself out farther than the horizon and make me wait, with that pit in my stomach. On the days I had butterflies of joy, you would race faster than light, the moment slipping through my fingers like rushing water. Why you did these things, I'll never know. 

But one thing I know for sure. You’ve got a penchant for taking my life in your hands and making it into a crazy dance number, spinning me around and around.

Dear time, you've been the only constant in my life. You've caused me sorrow, taken away people from me I loved, but you've also brought me much happiness. So far you've taken care of me, kept my pulse going, meeting me at every fork of my journey. And when it's time for me to go, I'll let go of your hand and forge a dimension of my own.