'It Gets Everywhere' by Annette Willsch

Sand everywhere. I comb it from my hair, I blow it from my nose, I rub it from my eyes. It chafes on my skin. It’s between the sheets, making my sleep restless. Walking is difficult because it’s in my shoes. It makes my food gritty, taking away the flavour. It trickles across the TV screen, blurring my vision. It seeps into my ears muffling the sounds of the world. 

I talk to my doctor about it. She says it has to do with time. 

There’s no remedy available. Before long I’ll be buried. Buried under the sands of time.