“Are you ever on time?”
He stared her down from the threshold, slightly out of breath from his sprint up the stairs. Still, he found it in himself to flash a small smile before admitting, “When am I not late?”
I was so late for work, I forgot to turn the oven off. I didn’t realize until I was halfway on the road and I get a call from my neighbor saying my kitchen was on fire. My precious flowers and dishes were ruined. The wreckage was like nothing I had ever seen before. It was a terrible nightmare filled with tense phone calls, bills, and scolding. But, the only difference is, I wouldn’t wake up from this nightmare– not yet.
Love why do you always come so late? Is it a game of yours? Do you like it? Because you are breaking my heart and it hurts. So please, even if it is only for today, stop and let me be.
I ran out of time I’m sorry ill be faster next time. what happened was there was traffic and I also woke up late. I promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?
being late is never a good thing. i hate being late. my mother always made me late, everywhere we went, everything i did, somehow, she managed to find a way to make me late. and, in turn, make me look bad. thanks mom, it’s much appreciated.
and then there’s a whole different kind of late that my mother has nothing to do with… what a scare.
I’m late in life, everyday late for something. Late for thinking. Why don’t we ever slow down? Not enough time for such things I guess. But now and then I smell the faint roses, beautiful.
I’m late for my life, it started without me. My body is there bu my soul its not. My soul is back at limbo waiting to go to earth and live but my body left. Its with my life that already started.
It’s too late. I had the chance to tell him how I feel but when I saw him with a girl, my heart sank to the deepest dungeon. It probably broke into pieces that cannot be fixed. I couldn’t feel anything. No pain, no blood, nothing. Maybe it was too painful that I felt numb.
Why haven’t I told him that I had feelings for him? Why did I live by the ‘I know he doesn’t like me that way’ motto? If I told him that I love him, would it even make a difference?
late one day, late the next. Why can’t I ever wake up early like a normal human being, keep one job, hold on to a nice girlfriend and generally be one with the universe? As always I’m talking to myself and wait nobody still gives a fuck.
I could do without it, without it all. I can’t handle school anymore. The hallway, the bell, the isolated colorless classrooms, the dull teachers. So I sleep in. Or I ditch class. I go on a lengthy walk well into the next period. Entering the classroom draws full attention on me for about half a second but depending on the teacher, my move could be fatal. I am late.
today i was late to class. it was hard to explain why. but surely you might understand. you see i was running to the class when i saw an old friend. i couldnt avoid them as that would be rude. but rather i had to stop and talk for the mindless how have you beens? and those never mean much anyway.
One summer night it was a very cool breeze drifting on the melody of of riffs of clouds. The dusk had just set an it was getting very very late so much you could smell the dew settling on the grass and the crickets were starting up their symphony. It was a good summer that year, just good enough I could soak my feet in and fond memories come floating back. It isn’t every day I don’t think of that summer and wish I could relive the spirit of the fresh warm evenings and hot sunny mornings. I would go down for a dip in the creek with Darry as soon as the sun got high as the sky. That was the summer I relished in summer love and learned life lessons there isn’t a day where I don’t wish I could go back.
It was dark and cold, something that had come all too familiar to us. The grassed stained our knees and the rain wet our hair; we hadn’t a care in the world, only that we loved the look on mother’s face.
I don’t want to be late. Being late is scary, it’s a symbolism of letting people down, of letting the world down. Of being so caught in the shuffle and the tide of life that you can’t keep up. That you can’t reach your destination, that you’re lost forever at sea. Being late marks the sign of impending doom. Of distrust among those who count on you, on the crumbling of whatever it is you are supposed to be doing. You are supposed to be there, not here. Not here, running and frantically searching for a way to that place. But you are not there. You are here, and trapped and lost and it is beyond your control but you can’t help it. You are late. Left behind. Lost in the sea and the tide, lost in the struggle of mankind and it’s perception of time.
I know I am too late as I walk in the door, much too late to go unnoticed, so I abort the idea of sneaking in quietly. Nicholas waits for me on the love seat, staring ahead.
“Where have you been?”
“Out.”
“I told you to be back by nine.”
“It’s saturday. The traffic was bad.” Why am I still in this? Fear begins to form in a hard knot in the pit of my stomach.
“Who were you with?”
I take a deep breath and stare at the wall. I feel like I am explaining myself to an overprotective father. A father who drinks a little too freely.
I can smell the alcohol on Nick’s breath from three feet away.
“I was with Noah.”
“Him again.”
“Yes.”
“You’d rather spend time with him than me.”
Yes.
“No, of course not.” I hear myself say words that have never been more untrue.
Nick sighs a practiced, well worn sigh. Terror shoots through me. Please let me off easy.
“Then, you’d better come over here and prove it to me.”
Fear turns to disgust, and I find I would take the beating over this. This is hell; this fake, ugly affection. I throw my jacket on the floor and saunter towards him. I pray he will not smell Noah on my skin.
Now matter how late we are, it’s not the end. The clocks keep ticking, life floats by, whether we watch it from the windowsill or from the center of the crowds of people hustled together. You’ll wake up tomorrow and every single second that we’re breathing gives a second chance.
Late means kind of a lot of different things really. It’s death it’s tardiness it’s really just a derogortory term in a way. I don’t know about you but if I am running late I panic because to me being punctual is so I portent. When people are late I take it to mean they don’t care or they’re oblivious. To me it means so much when people feel obligated to be on time. It makes the meticulous planning that we should all take time to do into consideration. It’s nice. I like it. Late is also death as I mentioned above. Death, or rather, someone who is late, has lost a life. And that’s what happens when people are late. We lose time. We lose life. When someone is late, we all are.
I’m heading to work. Its 5 past 6
in the fucking morning.
My life sucks ass doesn’t it?
Then a jackass in a H2 hummer comes blasting exhaust into my front and I can’t see a fuckin thing.
I have to deal with this guy, then I have to deal with my boss and all his plutocratic bitchin’.
oh my god i am late or now i’m thinking of a lat’e but I don’t drink coffee anymore except today as it is thanksgiving late oh my i will be late but not by 15 min it is my responsibility to not be late. where is this going?
being late is so lame, but i usually always am. no matter what it is or how early i get ready for it, i’m late. school, doctors, brain surgery, etc. LATE. it just happens. the one thing that i’m okay with being late for is my period though. yes, i just used that example.
“I’m going to be so late!” She was running down the street, desperate to beat the bus to her stop. If she missed that bus she would never make it to the appointment on time. She had to talk to the doctor. It was wrong, all wrong, she could feel it.
I’M LATE AGAIN AND MY HEART HURTS AND MY HEAD IS HEAVY AND I SEE YOU WITH THE PUFF OF FUR ABOVE YOUR COLOUR AND THE HAIR ON YOUR HEEL AND MY EYES FOLLOW YOUR TRAIL WINDING THROUGH THE STICKS OF MUD IN THE SOLE OF MY SHOE AND THIS DOESN’T MAKE SENSE AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WHEN I SEE YOU I’M SO LOST AND NOW I’M LATE AGAIN.
The moment I realized it I knew my life would change. It was late. That one monthly gift we all hated but at the same time loved and needed so desperately. How could this be? I hadn’t been with a man in what seemed like forever. Well, besides Drew, but we hadn’t even done it.
That day was one of the strangest days of my life. I walked into the classroom, late as usual, and everyone was gone. The belongings of the entire class remained, but there was no evidence of their presence besides that. The seats of the chairs were cold as if no one had sat there all morning.
I try so hard not to be late.
I hate being late. Just the thought of it drives me wrong. My family is always late. I hate being late. Punctuality is key to happiness according to me. Lateness is downright inappropriate. Why be tardy? life is too short to be late.
Im late, I’m late for a very important date. No time to say hello, goodbye; I’m late, I’m late, I’m late! Being late is something we’ve all been through. I hate being late. Being late is terrible. Lateness is failure.
“I’m running late, I’m running late!” Carey said. She was running really late, obviously. The bus was supposed to come at 7:47, and it was 7:43 at the time. She slipped on her neon green converse, grabbed her bag, and ran to the bus stop. There, her friends waited for her.
I am always worried about being late. I hate being late, and yet I have trouble making myself get up in the morning on time so that I am not late. It’s distressing.
sometimes I am late… I dont do it in purpose it just happens… Most of the times people get angry, but to say it with J.D. Sallingers words “Nobody is angry at a woman if she’s late, if she’s looking georgeous”… naw that wasnt it, but its something like that.
The time i could not keep,
lost here for days or weeks.
Standing here dreaming of other places
where late cannot speak.
“Are you ever on time?”
He stared her down from the threshold, slightly out of breath from his sprint up the stairs. Still, he found it in himself to flash a small smile before admitting, “When am I not late?”
I was so late for work, I forgot to turn the oven off. I didn’t realize until I was halfway on the road and I get a call from my neighbor saying my kitchen was on fire. My precious flowers and dishes were ruined. The wreckage was like nothing I had ever seen before. It was a terrible nightmare filled with tense phone calls, bills, and scolding. But, the only difference is, I wouldn’t wake up from this nightmare– not yet.
Love why do you always come so late? Is it a game of yours? Do you like it? Because you are breaking my heart and it hurts. So please, even if it is only for today, stop and let me be.
She stares down at her watch, grabbing an umbrella and fumbling for her keys. She’s going to be late but she can’t stop smiling.
I ran out of time I’m sorry ill be faster next time. what happened was there was traffic and I also woke up late. I promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?
I have been stressed of late, always wondering if I am doing the right thing, and if my efforts are sufficient. Where is the confidence of my youth?
I am late,
you are gone.
I am too.
But I will try all the time to remember you, darling.
I care.
I care.
being late is never a good thing. i hate being late. my mother always made me late, everywhere we went, everything i did, somehow, she managed to find a way to make me late. and, in turn, make me look bad. thanks mom, it’s much appreciated.
and then there’s a whole different kind of late that my mother has nothing to do with… what a scare.
I’m late in life, everyday late for something. Late for thinking. Why don’t we ever slow down? Not enough time for such things I guess. But now and then I smell the faint roses, beautiful.
I’m late for my life, it started without me. My body is there bu my soul its not. My soul is back at limbo waiting to go to earth and live but my body left. Its with my life that already started.
It’s too late. I had the chance to tell him how I feel but when I saw him with a girl, my heart sank to the deepest dungeon. It probably broke into pieces that cannot be fixed. I couldn’t feel anything. No pain, no blood, nothing. Maybe it was too painful that I felt numb.
Why haven’t I told him that I had feelings for him? Why did I live by the ‘I know he doesn’t like me that way’ motto? If I told him that I love him, would it even make a difference?
late one day, late the next. Why can’t I ever wake up early like a normal human being, keep one job, hold on to a nice girlfriend and generally be one with the universe? As always I’m talking to myself and wait nobody still gives a fuck.
I could do without it, without it all. I can’t handle school anymore. The hallway, the bell, the isolated colorless classrooms, the dull teachers. So I sleep in. Or I ditch class. I go on a lengthy walk well into the next period. Entering the classroom draws full attention on me for about half a second but depending on the teacher, my move could be fatal. I am late.
today i was late to class. it was hard to explain why. but surely you might understand. you see i was running to the class when i saw an old friend. i couldnt avoid them as that would be rude. but rather i had to stop and talk for the mindless how have you beens? and those never mean much anyway.
One summer night it was a very cool breeze drifting on the melody of of riffs of clouds. The dusk had just set an it was getting very very late so much you could smell the dew settling on the grass and the crickets were starting up their symphony. It was a good summer that year, just good enough I could soak my feet in and fond memories come floating back. It isn’t every day I don’t think of that summer and wish I could relive the spirit of the fresh warm evenings and hot sunny mornings. I would go down for a dip in the creek with Darry as soon as the sun got high as the sky. That was the summer I relished in summer love and learned life lessons there isn’t a day where I don’t wish I could go back.
It was dark and cold, something that had come all too familiar to us. The grassed stained our knees and the rain wet our hair; we hadn’t a care in the world, only that we loved the look on mother’s face.
I don’t want to be late. Being late is scary, it’s a symbolism of letting people down, of letting the world down. Of being so caught in the shuffle and the tide of life that you can’t keep up. That you can’t reach your destination, that you’re lost forever at sea. Being late marks the sign of impending doom. Of distrust among those who count on you, on the crumbling of whatever it is you are supposed to be doing. You are supposed to be there, not here. Not here, running and frantically searching for a way to that place. But you are not there. You are here, and trapped and lost and it is beyond your control but you can’t help it. You are late. Left behind. Lost in the sea and the tide, lost in the struggle of mankind and it’s perception of time.
I know I am too late as I walk in the door, much too late to go unnoticed, so I abort the idea of sneaking in quietly. Nicholas waits for me on the love seat, staring ahead.
“Where have you been?”
“Out.”
“I told you to be back by nine.”
“It’s saturday. The traffic was bad.” Why am I still in this? Fear begins to form in a hard knot in the pit of my stomach.
“Who were you with?”
I take a deep breath and stare at the wall. I feel like I am explaining myself to an overprotective father. A father who drinks a little too freely.
I can smell the alcohol on Nick’s breath from three feet away.
“I was with Noah.”
“Him again.”
“Yes.”
“You’d rather spend time with him than me.”
Yes.
“No, of course not.” I hear myself say words that have never been more untrue.
Nick sighs a practiced, well worn sigh. Terror shoots through me. Please let me off easy.
“Then, you’d better come over here and prove it to me.”
Fear turns to disgust, and I find I would take the beating over this. This is hell; this fake, ugly affection. I throw my jacket on the floor and saunter towards him. I pray he will not smell Noah on my skin.
Later
Better late, than never?
I hate o be late. Anxiety big time .
Now matter how late we are, it’s not the end. The clocks keep ticking, life floats by, whether we watch it from the windowsill or from the center of the crowds of people hustled together. You’ll wake up tomorrow and every single second that we’re breathing gives a second chance.
Latency in thought and fate,
If we met, a second, it would be too late.
Our synchronicity is conceptual.
Many things can be late, you should’t be. Better late than never. Late is never good.
Late means kind of a lot of different things really. It’s death it’s tardiness it’s really just a derogortory term in a way. I don’t know about you but if I am running late I panic because to me being punctual is so I portent. When people are late I take it to mean they don’t care or they’re oblivious. To me it means so much when people feel obligated to be on time. It makes the meticulous planning that we should all take time to do into consideration. It’s nice. I like it. Late is also death as I mentioned above. Death, or rather, someone who is late, has lost a life. And that’s what happens when people are late. We lose time. We lose life. When someone is late, we all are.
I’m heading to work. Its 5 past 6
in the fucking morning.
My life sucks ass doesn’t it?
Then a jackass in a H2 hummer comes blasting exhaust into my front and I can’t see a fuckin thing.
I have to deal with this guy, then I have to deal with my boss and all his plutocratic bitchin’.
Being late sucks. But not as bad as having lips like a duck. Go swim in a pond. Be gone.
oh my god i am late or now i’m thinking of a lat’e but I don’t drink coffee anymore except today as it is thanksgiving late oh my i will be late but not by 15 min it is my responsibility to not be late. where is this going?
I was late and it was great. Found the lake, began to skate. Late is great.
being late is so lame, but i usually always am. no matter what it is or how early i get ready for it, i’m late. school, doctors, brain surgery, etc. LATE. it just happens. the one thing that i’m okay with being late for is my period though. yes, i just used that example.
“I’m going to be so late!” She was running down the street, desperate to beat the bus to her stop. If she missed that bus she would never make it to the appointment on time. She had to talk to the doctor. It was wrong, all wrong, she could feel it.
I’M LATE AGAIN AND MY HEART HURTS AND MY HEAD IS HEAVY AND I SEE YOU WITH THE PUFF OF FUR ABOVE YOUR COLOUR AND THE HAIR ON YOUR HEEL AND MY EYES FOLLOW YOUR TRAIL WINDING THROUGH THE STICKS OF MUD IN THE SOLE OF MY SHOE AND THIS DOESN’T MAKE SENSE AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WHEN I SEE YOU I’M SO LOST AND NOW I’M LATE AGAIN.
The moment I realized it I knew my life would change. It was late. That one monthly gift we all hated but at the same time loved and needed so desperately. How could this be? I hadn’t been with a man in what seemed like forever. Well, besides Drew, but we hadn’t even done it.
That day was one of the strangest days of my life. I walked into the classroom, late as usual, and everyone was gone. The belongings of the entire class remained, but there was no evidence of their presence besides that. The seats of the chairs were cold as if no one had sat there all morning.
I try so hard not to be late.
I hate being late. Just the thought of it drives me wrong. My family is always late. I hate being late. Punctuality is key to happiness according to me. Lateness is downright inappropriate. Why be tardy? life is too short to be late.
ONE WORD ONE WORLD ONE LOVE ONE FAMILY ONE LIFE ONE GOD
Im late, I’m late for a very important date. No time to say hello, goodbye; I’m late, I’m late, I’m late! Being late is something we’ve all been through. I hate being late. Being late is terrible. Lateness is failure.
“I’m running late, I’m running late!” Carey said. She was running really late, obviously. The bus was supposed to come at 7:47, and it was 7:43 at the time. She slipped on her neon green converse, grabbed her bag, and ran to the bus stop. There, her friends waited for her.
I am always worried about being late. I hate being late, and yet I have trouble making myself get up in the morning on time so that I am not late. It’s distressing.
i ate my lunch late
She was still hungry and I was angry
this whole day did not start on time
it’s been happening frequently, as of late
sometimes I am late… I dont do it in purpose it just happens… Most of the times people get angry, but to say it with J.D. Sallingers words “Nobody is angry at a woman if she’s late, if she’s looking georgeous”… naw that wasnt it, but its something like that.