Sunday, November 6, 2011

2: Upon being bored

Waiting for time, the clock ticks. The ticking is only in my head, everything is digital now.
Stretching this moment far longer than it should be, there is an impasse. Nothing is moving.
The ticking continues and it flows into a booming bass that goes on every other second. I have no way of knowing if I'm imagining these sounds.

A minute has passed, an hour. Nothing significant, nothing worthwhile.

Darling, can you believe I'm wasting all this time?

Inhale, exhale. How cliche, I think. I argue with myself for three seconds. Doesn't really matter, doesn't even change anything. Three seconds lost to self doubt, three seconds from the millions I lose as each day blends into another.

It's still not time, but what does it matter? Now, or in an hour, I would still be here-- a desert of time and infinity that blends and flows into each other, and everything. Nothing worthwhile, nothing different.

And yet, it's still not time. And I just wait.

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