When Am I?

"Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go/So make the best of this test and don't ask why/It's not a question but a lesson learned in time."
                   - Good Riddance, Green Day
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
Time is often described as a river. I can see this. A controlling torrent with no end, but yes, a river all the same. It's goes only one way but with the irony of two. 
When we want to look behind, it does nothing but push us forward. 
When we want to move forward, it does nothing but turn our heads over our shoulders. 
When it's belly echoes with a vacant cry, the walls expand for miles. 
When it's full with not a room to step, there is hardly room to take that step. 

I can't remember the last time I had a night to sit down and really just write. Anything. A new story, new ideas, lists, names, events. Anything. 
I wake up with no knowledge of what day it is. For all I know, it's midnight of Halloween. 
I go to sleep never knowing where I'll come to. 
Is this day and age gone? 

The river is flooded with more than water. Books that grace my arms with paper cuts. Notes that bring forth blood from my ears. The waft of copper from the cash register. And, not even fresh water, salt. Sweet salt. 

This post, and it's offspring to come soon, were meant for the previous evening. 
But the river swept me past my dock. I only managed to claw my way back again. 

~E