One hour in a coffee shop can fly by so fast I cannot catch it.
One hour of getting my children out the door, to school, and ready for the day, is simultaneously forever long and way too fast and we can’t get it all done but I don’t want to add any more time to our routine because I don’t want to give that part any more of my day.
I can’t believe I am only 34 this week.
It seems like I should be 36. 37.
Only three years have passed in the last three years. But surely it should have been more. It has been the longest three years of my life.
When children are small, the days are long but the years fly by.
Time is measured, predictable, and yet it can fold up tight and spread itself wide like the pleats of an accordian.
Time can be, “Wait. What just happened?”
Time can be, “I remember everything that happened in those four seconds, as if it took ten minutes.”
“Her husband has been gone for two and a half years.”
That’s a long time, when you measure it in good night kisses and cups off coffee and dinner dates.
It’s not very long when you measure it in the course of a life time.
It’s terribly short in the sense of the ten years I had with him.
It’s horrifically long when I don’t want to get out of bed to face yet another day that looks like yesterday.
Time. Who does it belong to, anyway?
“Make the most of it.”
“Take your time.”
“We don’t have time for this.”
“How much time is left?”
“What time is it?”
“This day is mine.”
“This day belongs to you, God.”
“I hate this day.”
“I love this day.”
“I wish this day would go faster.”
“I want to stop this day and freeze time.”
The best and worst of days is only 24 hours long.
My wedding day.
Every anniversary, with or without him,
Every day, with or without him,
each one is 24 hours long.
Does time heal?
Or does time make me forget?
Is time my friend or my foe?
Or both all at once in the same day and the same lifetime?
I’m never fully content with you, Time. There’s always a way you could serve me just a bit differently, more suitably to my needs.