"The Thief Of Time"

I wish I were but a Thief, so I might steal the things you cherish— simple trinkets, forgotten joys, the moments you held lightly, never knowing their worth. But I am Time. I rob you of the most precious thing. Each day I take, a memory gone— recall it as you may, but truly, it has slipped away, like sand through trembling fingers, lost among the endless dunes of what once was. A Thief of Lament, I suppose, yet beyond my will—I do not choose. I am simply a force that acts, a shadow stretching ever forward, never pausing, never asking, only taking, until nothing remains but echoes.