Time

Time is something that is inescapable, uncomprehensible, unforgiving, inexcusable, and something in which we live by. You show up late for work and it's something you can't escape. You live a life time and it's something you never understood. You have something you choose to regret, and you won't ever forgive yourself or the action. You claim I didn't have the time in the day...it's an excuse for being lazy. Don't worry, it's something we all do.

Have you ever thought about time though? Simplistically, it's numbers, hours, digits, analog, dial...etc. What is the extent of it's multitude though? What it is that makes us able to fall asleep at said time, to wake up at another. What is it that makes these numbers, gaps in between life moments if you will. We sleep in between the gaps of the processes of life.

Think about how much goes on while your asleep...Life forming, life ending and everything in between. A junkie starting an addiction, a junkie ending an addiction. A man starting a job, a man loosing a job. A soldier picking up arms, a soldier taking a nap and laying his down. A fisher reeling in his catches for the day, the chef waking up to go peruse these musings of fresh sea life, only to be put on a dinner plate in a few hours.

A father disowning his son, a son coming to a father saying sorry. A mother watching in agony, a mother watching in bliss. A drunk stumbling home, a sober man staggering to the bar to order a drink. The lonely reminiscing over love lost, the lonely finding love that's been there all along.

A sinner at an all night confession, a prostitute searching for a confession. A new life. The gambler leaving hoping for a better tomorrow, a gambler realizing he is going to loose and gives up.

A baby crying, a father tending to the child while the mother sleeps. A mother tending to her child while the father sleeps. A poor family loosing all they having. Starving. Full of desperation and an empty stomach. A family gaining a meal, and a lost son.

Time is almost an illusion of what's in store for life. It's like the preface to the epilogue. What's written in between you ask? The novel, the sweet novel!

The memories in which will never be forgotten. The faces, voices, sounds, touches, emotions...that's what life is. It can not, and shall be not measured by time. Age is but a number, a memory is but a time, but time? That's a matter of one's definition.