Time

Time is uneven. Time sloshes; every message sent, from the slowest postcard to the quickest SMS, drags a small piece of the past with it. The truths that apply when you write don't keep up with the world during their passages from place to place. For a little while, perhaps, your words are content in their ignorance, or stewing in their misbelief.

The Lisper in me sees this as a closure over our words. The romantic in me sees it as a beautiful remnant. A small part of me worries about what is going to be different tomorrow, after I write this, but a bigger part wants to find out.

Posted at 2005-08-08 18:07:37 by Richard • Link to Time
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