Hasty and Time
We manipulate it somehow. The world does. Or society does with our schedules and our routines. Our calendars and the way we mark off the years. The way we pencil in meetings and make plans that we either rush towards or cancel.
It is the one constant. A rigid passing that we can count on. Yet we turn it into a chaotic rhyme. I surmise it is because we are aging and it is the inevitability that time will carry death to our door at any moment that keeps us marking time.
My relationship with time has been tortured. I wake up and I rush. Everyday. Busy. I am stealing moments of calm. I am carving out seconds for love and kindness. But the majority of my time is spent trying to keep organized enough to not fall horribly behind.
Time is powerful. I simply…
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