Three hours barely away...

Just three hours to go, dear...
And we become history again...
Like every moments that pass so imperceptibly sometimes...
Incorrigibly...grains of sand...as we are in that hourglass-
Upturned...

Just a few minutes more and those days would be in past
And we would refer them as things happened once...
The way the flower bloomed to see the light that shone on it...
The way the dew drops fell on tender leaves to make them shiny that pleasant morning...
The way you on my lap heaved a sigh after a grilling Monday...that came and went...
The way once I kissed your earlobes to send all my steam into you!
The way you reciprocated by putting your right middle-finger on my trembling lips once, forbidding me not to disturb the silence that embraced us two at a forlorn evening!
The way we ran under the sun like truant school boys, sweaty, giggling...

Just a few minutes dear!
And all become so cruelly ancient!
But...
Math is a terrible argument...
Elevens precede twelves...
And twelves always follow the elevens!
Math is just a device, dear!

We stay true...like all those images of the days and moments gone-
That defy almanac;
Three hours barely away from two thousand and twelve...
You have the final say...
Not the year!