All These Stolen Hours

One by one, all together, the little grains of sand made their way down the diminished path inside the glass and one by one but all together my thoughts wandered away from the candlelight reflected on the hourglass. All those stolen hours unexpectedly plunged into my life like the elusive drop of water after the faucet is closed. All the time that I never thought I had, nor foreseen to make, spiraling from the open space to the small space to yet another large room. I never dared imagining what the feeling would be or actually, I never dared imagining that my imagination sought after such real things. So tangible in front of my eyes I could almost touch it – I could definitely feel it – but yet so distant. Tap, tap, tap, my fingers did on the wooden desk. My feet stomping lightly in an irregular beat as skimpy as my flickering eyes. Was it time?

Had I stolen hours from someone else’s life? Or had I skipped my own sequence of seconds and minutes and disorganized the flow of the hours? My anxious hands, unfriendly with the clock, swaying as they were, could not have managed to stop or rewind or forward the watches. As my own mind struggled with the effort of translating my sweet unreality into solid memories that weren’t just thoughts, my muscles disobeyed me – I grinned. For the first time or at least what felt like it the hourglass in front of me did not control me. So I flipped it upside down and watched the same sand grains that were bottom become top and the rest of them mingle within them, because how up was top or how low was bottom anyways? Defiance, if anything, was what time deserved from me. Bittersweet defiance motivated by the past times when time encountered me and had no compassion to the grains of sand mingling inside my head.

For me, now, time was nothing but another dimension.

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