Time independent from me. Time going on without my intervention, even if I don’t pay attention . Even if I don’t take a photo or make a note in my diary.
Time is irreversible. Time is rhythm and flux. Time is continuous, even when things within it discontinue.
And even with a diary, even with noticing, paying attention, yet time is passing anyway. Time is being used up.
Time is a river in which I float. Sometimes swift with rapids. Sometimes a sweet, lazy flow. Never in my control. Always a surprise.
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