Time is so strange, it morphs and alters its nature depending on what’s happening. Waiting for something? It stretches itself out, as long and as thin as possible, so you can’t see from one side to the other.
Enjoying something? Time squishes in on itself, taking up the least space possible, and blip, it’s over before you know it.
And then there are those patches when it gets really, really strange. Where it seems to go by in a rush, and yet every single moment is etched in slow, slow detail.
I have my suspicions about an extra-worldly being with a universal remote (universal remote!) and a quick finger with the fast-forward, rewind and pause, but I’m still working on that theory.
We cannot see it, we cannot control or contain it, and yet it rules our lives. Too much and not enough, all at the same time.
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