Poetry On Odyssey: Depression's Glance Into Time

Most of my life, I've been pretty carefree about time.

Whenever I was younger I felt as if time went by as slow as a sleepy sloth, that I had all of the time in the world to do all sorts of things that my mind had succumbed to doing. Sometimes I felt as if time was moving way too slow for my comfort, that it was passing at such a slow rate that I grew miserable just thinking.

This all changed once I turned the age of sixteen. At sixteen, I realized things speed up, fast. Faster than a race car going through Talladega, or faster than the speed of light.

I realized days go by and suddenly those days turn into months, within a blink of an eye you're graduating high school and starting your life as a legal adult.

I realized family members will begin to pass away, funerals will begin being every week and the brother you never visited will fall into a coma and die without you being able to give at least one last "I love you".

Time is the world's most sneaky murderer, hiding within grandfather clocks and even making a home into your cellular device.

Time is beyond precious, but time is also beyond terrifying.

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