The dinner table was always where it happened
Where laughs could fill empty stomachs
When worries would turn into fragments and eventually fade into a temporary memory
Where the sand in an hourglass would find itself floating
And you realize how short-lived this moment would be
Because the dinner table was also where it happened
The miscommunication
The endless bickering
The bad thoughts
The heartbreaking silence
Along with the regret of ever having enjoyed yourself not knowing what was to come
You could not feel the final grain of sand falling
Because the moment you had gotten up from your seat
Some entity had already flipped the glass
Now, like a puppet, you are forced to keep moving
What’s stopping you from cutting the strings that chain you to time?
The dinner table
That’s what.
