Perfect Timing

Ah, Time.

Such a funny creature. We try to measure you by imposing our words upon you. We classify you by minutes and hours and complain about how fast and slow you are, depending on our perception and mood. We associate you with milestones and goals, achievements and failures. You are the measure by which we view ourselves and the lives we lead. You are limited, yet you are infinite.  It is by your passing that I know something has changed, and yet besides small shifts within my own identity, I am unsure as to what exactly it is that changes as you slip through my fingers and preserve memories.

We’ve had a rocky relationship over the years. Sometimes you were too serious for me, and at other times, I wished that you would stop so that I could take deep breaths and appreciate the moments that were brought to me by kinder forces than yourself. You taught me with each strike of your captor’s hands, the pair that circle round and around the clock that tries to define when I am allowed or prohibited from doing something. I am convinced that you made a pact with Busyness a few years back, but I’ve twarted you both. I banished Clock from my living room and let it gather dust as I became better friends with patience and learned to slow down, despite the pressures of Busyness to do otherwise. I think we can be better friends and hope that my optimism is not misplaced. Let’s you and I go bond on this eve of a weekend longer than most. You can slip past me as the rain falls outside, but try not to move too quickly, because my parents will be here, and I would rather like to appreciate their presence. Do you think you can do that? We’ll have to see.

I’ll check back in with you later, and we can reevaluate then.

Goodnight, time, and thank you for a wonderful day.

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