"Time could become deformed as it moved forward. Time itself was uniform in composition, but once consumed, it took on a deformed shape. One period of time might be terribly heavy and long, while another could be light and short.Occasionally the order of things could be reversed, and in the worst cases order itself could vanish entirely. Sometimes things that should not be there at all might be added onto time. By adjusting time this way to suit their own purposes, people probably adjusted the meaning of their existences. In other words, by adding such operations to time, they were able—but just barely—to preserve their own sanity. Surely, if a person had to accept the time through which he had just passed uniformly in the given order, his nerves could not bear the strain…”
Time has never formed correctly around my existence. I find it an uncomfortable space. My brain loops and loops, noting things down and following scheduled just so time can fall into its prescribed order. I bore myself within the constraints of time. Time is my enemy, it is the hell of waiting for Godot and I’m no interesting segway in the story. Time dulls my emotions, fuels my apathy and nails me to the flux of my body mass index and the colour of my hair. Time is facebook. Time is bad habits This time, it makes the definition of my existence so unattractive.
Moments, however, life, occasionally pounces upon me without a caution to the order. Time freezes and life creeps into my very being. These moments are when I feel myself, when I loose sight of my supposed failings within time, my inabilities to commit, to persist, to change, to progress. In these moments, when I am alive, I remember all the workings of my soul, the mood the sunshine can infest me with, the tears that can swell in my eyes simply from watching a friend from afar or a child laugh. Life, when music takes over your routinized brain and reminds you of what it is to exist. This is what I hope to rally in my everyday. It is time I must conquer for I have let it teach me of my nothingness. Yet, it is a type of nothingness, so endless and yet so heavily boarded.
'Do what makes sense to your sole, not to the story your story. And for God sake child, Love .'