Tourist

This is yours. You tell yourself it is. You reassure yourself what you have kept in the gripping palm of your hands, and what you hold strong in your hearts are yours. & only yours. Nobody else's. You are disillusioned. By possession. A feeling of triumphant that you forget the temporal sense of time. A notion of eternity, veiling the mirage of hours, minutes...seconds.

You forget that you are a merely embarking a journey. Which one day, will end. Forever is not in your hands. This is not yours. Nothing is in your hands. Look at your palms. Someday, everything will fade. Look into your hearts, what fire will burn when the fuel is dry and gone?

You are but a tourist.
Eternity exists, but it is not yet yours.
At least, not yet. I too, have been blind. & I am still waiting for mine.