With time on my hands, I discover the uncovered country that had never been there all along. It drags me through sights that I had always forgotten and blew me back the breath I sighed. I have asked it to stop, but time it seems, is too short for rest. “I’ve never been able to reach that high.” It said and took off in a new direction.
Time, to me, is constantly changing into similar colours of life. I gaze into it as I am dragged unwilling through it’s never static worlds. It teases me and knows my desire for freedom and yet, at times, it sympathises knowing it can do nothing.
If I could, I would stop the chase of eternal tag and pause to hold the strange beauty of the still moment usually hidden in ugly movement. I may treasure these flashed seconds and for that, I thank time. It keeps me moving against my will and never lets me lose myself in instances.
If I stop, I would reappear gone. Found missing in the shallow depths of infinite times. Time is then my best and only friend. Concerned for my life, it keeps me moving, facing every new life-second till there be nothing left to drag.
This leaves me with only one question; What sex is time, and is it free tonight?
Written by Jeffrey Watkins 1995
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