Time

Sometimes when I look at the hands of a clock, a strange chill runs up and down my spine.  I feel as though I'm in a race to beat the hands of the clock to wherever I'm going.  No matter how hard I try, I can't get rid of them.  They follow me everywhere.

Time is always on my hands.  It seems to push me onward.  It seems to force me to do things a little bit faster each time.  It seems to burden me with the knowledge that I can't just stop.  I must keep running, hand in hand, with the time that surrounds me.

Time seems to take away my joy.  It seems to force me to trudge on, to forget the joy, only to find sadness further down the road.  It seems to take away my most precious moments with the tick of its seconds, and bring me closer to death.  It brings me closer to the earth with each day that it closes.

Time forces me to wonder how much longer I can hold on.  It tires my hands and weakens my bones.  It gives me more knowledge with each passing hour.  Time shows me love, and it takes that love away with the quick movement of its minutes.

Time sets its own limits.  It can make the longest year seem as short as a day.  It can make tense moments seem infinitely long.

Time tries to hide from me, but I always know it's there.  It beckons me closer to hear its ticking seconds.  That's when I feel a chill up and down my spine.  I begin wondering what time is and if I could live without it.  Then I find time, and I feel the relief of knowing that time is mine, if I will only use it.

October 10, 1989