Own Time

 What I wanted to know was this: was I wasting time? Or did I hold perfection in my hand because I had all the choices? To choose to sit and stare at the green leaves all around me, as though I was about to be swallowed by a mouth of trees. To have time to pick up a hurt child, without rushing, time the care itself instead of forcing my mind around a solution that is twisted all the different ways until Thursday. Time, a gift? 

    But I was taught that this is not so. Time is a curse that flies only too swiftly. Tempus fugit. One must do everything in what little time one has so as not to waste it. 

    But, I found, this made time fly faster.

    So, I went to the forest and stepped into the mushroom ring. 

    When I escaped from Faerie, the world was a hundred years older. Surely it would let me live with time as it is in itself. But no, the world was no slower. If anything, it had hurried. I left again, for mushroom rings were still the same.

    Back and forth I went, yet the world hurried on. As if it wanted its doom.

    It took me some time to learn my lesson.

    Eventually I stayed in the world, but I did time on my own. Time was happier that way.

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