The measurement of time spent alone… They always say, “time flies when you’re having fun.” It also flies when you’re late or when you’re busy. It flies when you’d liked to tie time to a no parking sign like a dog, you were gone for just a minute. It flies when there aren’t enough quarters in the meter but why can’t it fly when it hurts to breathe?
It sloths around like it were the only day that counted. Its slow like the last drop of honey in a squeeze bottle bear. Heartbroken, time moves slow, like a vengeful death, punishing you for mistakes you never knew you were making.
Abandoned, nothing flies. Memories walk past you, glaring at you, reminding you what you once had. Days are really parts of days. When someone asks, how’s your day? You almost want to answer, “Well from 2:00pm-4:30, I was pretty miserable…” Weeks? Those are an eternity. & It’s only been days apart…
Days are divided into when you’re hurting, when you’re forgetting, when you’re remembering and when you’re sleeping. I read today that time travel, while heavily studied may never be possible. You can never go back and change the mistakes you made and you can’t speed forward so as not to sit through the pain of heartbreak.
I asked my 6th grade student if he knew what karma was, he replied, “yeah, it goes around right?” It sure did come around.