slow time, proceed slowly time

slow time, proceed slowly time

fiction
edward w pritchard

I have become aware that everyone and everything has only a limited amount of time. Everyone I love or care about. Inanimate objects I don't know of. Spinning moving galaxies I can't comprehend.

Yet time is not real. It can be proven logically. Something about the A and the B series, Before and after or now and then. Time is not real, but everything comes and goes eventually.

Slow time. No matter what I must now endure, I want my time to last. I am so so curious. Yet a new baby born today, lucky enough to last a long time by human standards has merely 41,610 days.

Some days are notable. Days past are significant worthy to be remembered and relived in memory. Time not real? Time itself seems concrete when remembered and contemplated.

It seems strange that only we people are aware that time is limited for everything. We are like a burning match, soon to be extinguished; why should only us people realize that the combination that causes the match to flare, heat and alight will soon be changed and gone.