as you find yourself growing older, years are as months once were,
months speed by like weeks.
weeks pass as days,
and days become a fleeting moment in a whirlwind of decades.
the beginning of a year is fresh,
you feel as though you have so much time then, however in no time youre halfway through.
begging time to slow its brutal pace.
a child views the world with eager eyes,
desperate for a taste of the future.
the elderly taste each moment like a drop of sugar, savoring the view of a life well lived.
once you felt as a child, at one birthday already eagerly awaiting the next,
however knowing it was so very far away.
moments felt like hours, a year seemed like ten.
now, however, a month after one birthday you feel the next drawing near.
you withdraw from time passing, attempting a futile race.
five months away, you know, will soon become five days.
where does it go?
time is a fickle mistress.
she ages with you, dragging her feet when you're both young.
as you mature, her endurance grows and her walk becomes a jog, becomes a sprint.
when time sees death, her pace quickens at the prospect of meeting her lover.
eventually time will stop, enveloped in the cold embrace of the end.
a certain peace will overwhelm her, knowing she has served her purpose.
she knows we may never understand her motives, her commitment, however she is content with her state.
as a child, the dragging of time simply seems cruel. we live each day so excited for the next, that we forget to enjoy our lives.
the slow pace forces us to live, to love and to remember our childhood.
as we grow older, the fast pace at which time flies seems unbearably overwhelming, so much to do in so little time, and so many new struggles.
she is getting us through, knowing each day is only to be lived once, and every bad thing will pass.
so, is time truly as coldly cruel as we believe, or is she kind in her own cruel way?
that is the cruelty of time.
