Nowhere To Hide My Deepest Fears

The Lost Hour…where secrets hide.

The clocks were changed one hour forward, meaning one hour will remain hidden until winter, an hour in which I could have hidden my deepest fears. An hour that went somewhere, an hour where no-one lives, no echoes heard, no wind moving tree limbs, where nothing turns, climbs, jumps, or is caught standing still.

Had I been prepared, I would have made ready, woken five minutes before the leaving hour, shout let’s go, and head out into that lost time, not returning until winter. But for now, anyway, the hour is gone. Not even ghosts inhabit that space, where truth cannot be held responsible, not even the legitimate lie. It’s an hour we give up to some blind trust that its loss will return us to normality.

There must be reasons for the hour’s unnoticed disappearance. I wish it had taken my disappointment with it, but it crept away while I slept.

Waking, looking into April’s face, summer laughing over the hill, the hour missing from my springtime days won’t tell the secret, won’t play that game of kiss and tell.

Clean, cotton-shirt days will return. The rippling waves, like sighs coming ashore, your breath on my cheek as you unashamedly lie your body next to mine without care for what the lost hour holds secret. It’s been so long, but still, my love hangs around your day like a vagrant looking for sympathy. Watching as you carry the morning light hours so easily in your face toward the noon, then beyond, to the dying of the day, knowing the hour is waiting, empty in the darkness. Still, it left without me.

I can’t seem to let the world pass and not get in its way.