Brief Things

I hate time. It’s too fast; it’s too slow. In an instance you’re with the ones you love, the next you’re alone, drowning your sorrows in escapism. It’s so precise and exact and costly. To lose time is a tragedy that no one can rectify. There’s a beginning and there’s an end, but the in between is so infinitely big, so absolute and unfathomable that you can scarcely say it’s even there. Here we are, a tiny speck in a vast ocean of the unknown, grasping at whatever we can to stay afloat, knowing that ultimately it’ll all be in vain.

II.

Oh time! A man’s life is measured by the ticks of a hand, the consistent changing of Gregory’s charts, the twirling of a floating ball in nothing. We fall down, then stand up, then walk slumped, finally falling down once more, one last time. What is that dash between the numbers? The memory of a select few and nothing more; that’s if you get lucky, finding favor with biology and fate and god (if you’re into that sort of thing) and the universe. Oh time! You are exhausting in your inexhaustibility. You are smothering in your staunchness. You are bittersweet in your (un)predictability. All we have of you, from you, in spite of you are precious few ticks on a rusted old pocket watch.

Next Chapter: Abyss of the Mind