Time Passing

There are some days when 24 hours just fly away. The will to dominate the minutes and seconds is not there. And time flows like water through your hands, and seeps away through the cracks in the floor.

Some days are sixty seconds per minute, sixty minutes per hour, a full twenty-four of them. Every moment is something done, something endured, something experienced. And a day later, it is a full day, whether for good or bad.

Time is plastic, and time is fluid. Like plastics, it can be more crystalline or more amorphous. Like fluids, it can flow as completely as an ideal gas or as slowly as honey. There are tests to determine the smallest unit of it, the gaps between the grains of time in Destiny's hourglass.

Today I am having one of these days during which you do a lot, and yet so little; you see a long day ahead, and also a short one. Tomorrow will always come; but ask not for whom it comes — it might not come for you.