Sometimes I take tiny little boxes
Cut out from mirrors
And fold them around split-seconds
I laugh when they struggle to break free
Because they throw their Existence in such a way
That I can see through their opaque skins
It is lonely being a Catcher of Moments
It is a duty
A passion
A hatred.
When I push my boxes towards others
The light often blinds them.
Last February I found a Trader whom I could give my little moments
In return for darker colored ones
We exchanged our wares
And walked away less for it
Now, when I put the moments into boxes
They are sealed with a stifling twinge of Un-Innocence
They no longer fight
So I no longer laugh
At least now I know there are more Catchers in the Unknown for me to encounter