I've tried to make it into one. Thinking I can wrap it around myself and relax into its folds. Oh, I've got three hours, I'll say. I imagine the things I'll do. I see me doing them with ease and comfort with such an abundance of minutes, like an abundance of well-milled yardage . But the comfort never materializes. Time is not a stretchy fabric. There are no soft folds to sink into. I reach for it and it dissipates like smoke, dark acrid smoke, the kind that tells you you're burning daylight.
So I'm giving up on time. I won't ask for more of it or hope I have enough of it. Because I won't. I won't have enough of it, so why bother? Why count something you will always run short of?
This is oddly comforting. Letting go of time...
ReplyDeleteI really love this by the way.
ReplyDeleteBless your heart...if anyone deserves more time, it's you, sis. Running up and down the interstate, working...I wish that the blanket of time was real! I would order a roomful of king size, plush velvet ones for you. I love your analogy!
ReplyDelete"I've been aware of the time going by.
ReplyDeleteThey say in the end it's the wink of an eye."