Time is constant, but that’s not how I experience it.

I can see backward through a looking glass that’s dark around the edges and often out of focus. The focusing ring is a series of photos and notes and faint memories.

I can see forward with an imagination that builds from past experience and unresolved anxiety and hope.

The only real moment is the present, where I can bend time with focus. Hours pass like minutes when I’m concentrating on something I love. Minutes pass like hours in conflict. Rest is time at 1x speed, where I am nothing but an observer.

All of it collapses into moments, strung together with a fragile thread I try not to break.

Eventually I will not be able to see or experience time. That’s not a reason to be sad, but a reason to celebrate the unique possibility of now.