The riddle.

I am the one who asks.
I live and I am here.
I think I’ll be no more sometime.
The time there is, while I exist, I want it to be mine.
The time I have, how much of it, I couldn’t easily rid.
You are the one who asks.
You live and you are here.
You think you’ll be no more sometime.
The time there is, while you exist is somehow shared with mine.
The time you have, how much of it, you couldn’t easily rid.
We are the ones who wish to know.
This seems to keep going, still without us knowing
why it is so hard to let go.
We live and we are here, we see us fade in time.
We see us hate what we create and love what we design.
We see us born and linger to capture closing rhyme.
It surely makes no sense – denying its existence.
We see us kill ourselfves to make a stand…
This is the love’s demand