“You can change.”
What a simple sentence. Yet it always held, at least for me, the illusion of time.
I don’t have much time left you see. Maybe it’s for the best. I couldn’t tell you. All I know is that staring brings me some comfort. Sitting alone in the woods, it feels like there is constant change. Time that bends and encapsulates me, at least in a moment. Listening to the wind blow. Watching the sun rise. Feel sap stick to my fingers. Smell the scent of pine.
And still I remain, a constant, a reminder, and always I regret it. Like that time spent so preciously has been for nothing. That I don’t deserve even a moment of peace. But it’s my guilty pleasure I suppose, a part of me that hasn’t yet been torn to shreds by the inexorable tick of a clock. I don’t own any of course. It would be a waste anyways. Time takes everything you see. The wind, the sun, and the trees. But I had felt that it shouldn’t have. That for the best of everything I had to take it, bend it, shape it to myself. It was the fear I had. The love I had thought I had had. And now I am alone… Love and fear taken and replaced. By something else, something darker than just time, well it was time, a part of time. But it wasn’t really him, or her, or whatever. Time wasn’t just the tick of a clock, a second passing, or even a minute or an hour. It was that encapsulating moment, those moments I so freely enjoyed, and those few seconds that darker part of time has allowed me.
Simply put Time and I have ruined each other.