You want some of my time?


You think that you deserve some of the time that is mine always,
that I can give to you if I feel you are worthy, you want to consume me?

May I warn thee:

To consume me before I am ready to know you results in a most bitter meal.  In fact I am so jealous of my time I near fury when I realized I might have wasted some of it.  Might sound odd, but it wasn’t too long ago that I didn’t have this problem and I might say I didn’t care much at all about time or being on time.  Now, again, it is one of the most important things to me.  I have friends to thank for this.  They realized that I was aloof and merely resting in the eddy’s of the current life.  They fashioned new timely souls for my vessel; little did they know how my spirit uses such forecast ed ailments.

That and working air conditioning, we can see how fast that is changing.  Car – nope.  House – not my room yet. 

My time, me, me, me, meeeeeeee.  I am selfish with me, I can’t share myself with you without resenting it.

My goals, my loves, my time.

Get yourself some of your own, we can share ourselves with each other… but this me do for you when you do no do just kills me.

My time is valuable for men and women wish to use it.  I am a fixer, a repair technician with a mission to love.

Spread it out, smother it over, get it working.  My mind, my hands, my heart are all conditioned for the mission.

Missionary is too hairy, I’d rather deal with digital.  The I/O isn’t imaginary.

You can have a piece.  A flavor savor you should endeavor – keep on your tongue, the flavor might be fun, it won’t be around very often hun.

Waste not, want not, appreciate what is given, appreciate whats hidden for you never know what when into what came to you.

My heart the martyr won’t let me live without finding my cup less without with my not having had it.  If I can’t share, then I don’t feel whole.  This is the calm of peace, the resting of pieces, the relaxation of places.  Such is my circle of energy and balance of life, gladly, I recognize that it is a changing thing, like the seasons, I am waiting for reasons that I can’t be jealous anymore.  Either too busy to be jealous or too comfortable to care, until then, my future, my calendar, I stare.

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