The flow of time,

I'm out of place, all the time.

Not in the sense that I am at the wrong time of my life,

 I just feel a little ahead,

Or sometimes behind,

Of when I'm supposed to be.

Nothing ever seems to line up quite right.

You're always gone whenever I show up,

And I've left just as you've arrived.

And I can do with being early,

and even being late,

But what hurts the most about being out of time,

 Is how lonely it is,

Always being the first,

And last,

To leave.