Hold me to Time
Tamara Brereton-Karabetsos
Time slips.
Quiet.
Soft.
Like it’s trying not to wake the parts of me I keep pretending are asleep.
But if I’m honest—
it’s me.
It’s always been me.
Turning the glass.
Stopping the clock.
Walking away before anything
has the chance to break me.
Maybe the hourglass isn’t a countdown.
Maybe it’s a mirror.
Showing me how often I choose escape
and call it “ending”.
How often I choose silence
and call it “strength.”
Time doesn’t force anything.
It just reveals what I’m running from.
And maybe—just maybe—
it’s time I stopped flipping the glass
and finally let something
reach me.
Tamara Brereton-Karabetsos