Is it the same today, yesterday, and tomorrow? Do we all experience it symmetrically or somehow the same way? Is it anything more than a complex social construct?
Ask the pioneer who ventured into the unknown how his time passed. The rugged, wrinkled man that went searching for adventure and returned to restlessness when the trail ran dry. Time quickens to a pace unspeakable when the journey is fresh. Once his heels have become buried in the ground complacency slips its mask on. Adventure doesn't ever last. Time crawls when joy dissipates or interior smiles evaporate.
The grandmother waiting in the hospital lounge. No one can disturb her except the slightest movement or touch. Maybe there's a chance her grandson will make it. Maybe he'll walk. And what about her daughter? How will she fare? Time loses track of itself. Time gets stuck between floors in the elevator. It pulls out its playing cards and teaches Joan and Jill to play crazy eights. No sign of maintenance coming and there is no need.
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