The days are long. Endless. They drag on forever. Except weekend days. Weekend days seem to go a little faster. But work days? Normal days? They drag on so long, sometimes I think I will never get through them. I long to close my eyes and let the time wash over me without my awareness. I am weary of counting the seconds and minutes. Weary of doing so many things I have to, but never getting to do the things I want to do.
The years, however, oh my! The years are short. They whiz by, time spinning like a ceiling fan on high speed. They march along, month by month, ripping pages from the calendar and leaving them scattered about in my memory. A year is quickly spent. Suddenly evaporated. Then ten. Twenty. Where did the time go? How did so many years escape so rapidly and without notice…yet when I look back I am startled to find they have gone without leaving a trace.
The days are long. The clock ticks unhurriedly, second after second after second, painstakingly meandering around the dial. The minutes accumulate at a snail’s pace. I feel their weight. They are a heavy burden, one building upon another. When I finally lay my head down on my pillow at night, it is with a sigh of relief and a prayer for a better, lighter, less tortured tomorrow.
How is it that seconds seem to pass more slowly than minutes? That minutes pass more slowly than hours? That hours pass more slowly than days? That days pass more slowly than months? That months pass more slowly than years? That years pass more slowly than decades? Yet a life flies by in less than the blink of an eye or the beat of a heart.
I am frightened by how sluggishly the minutes pass and how dawdling are the days. I am terrified by how hastily the years have raced by me leaving me with so little time ahead. I’m stunned by the way the decades have passed at super-sonic speed; they were nothing but a blur. I have accumulated far too many decades without ever living a moment of them.
The moments were uneventful and unremarkable while I lived within their walls. They didn’t make an impression. But I long for them, now that they are almost gone. I realize how much I missed by not grabbing hold of them with every bit of strength I could muster.
How can a day be so full of things that must be accomplished, but the years so void of progress?
Life is built by minutes that are boulders and decades that are sand. Boulders that are heavy and hard. That smash you. And try you. Sand that washes from my hand, instantly wiped away without a trace. I was a girl of 16 who turned her head but once, only to find myself suddenly transformed into a woman of 50. Sand. All that sand. I lived the boulders; they were harsh and painful, filled with difficulties to survive. But nothing came of them. And they stole everything from me. Gone before I even knew they had arrived. Washed back out to sea. Lost forever.
I existed through the tedious minutes. One by one by one, until they became an hour and the hour became a day and the day became a month. I existed, waiting for my life to begin. Waiting and holding on to a grain of hope. A grain of sand that slipped through my fingers. For nothing could restrain the rapidly vanishing years. Years filled with dying stars falling into darkness and disappearing there forevermore.
The days are long. The years are short.
Life is but a second long.