Time. What is it?
Some define it as the indefinite progress of existence and events in the past, present and future as whole. I think, however, that interpretation remains relative. Perhaps time is a man-made program from which we draw clarity. Much like an organizer, a filing system where we attempt to systematize and come up with some sort of structure amid our cluttered schedules.
I find myself flinching at the thought of whatever meaning the word might encompass. Time. What if time wasn't expressed as it is conventionally known? What is a day, a month, a year? What is twenty four hours except an appellation for the vagaries inherent to time itself?
The thought is somewhat daunting, a venture into the strange unknown.
Stability. Familiarity. There is a sense of certainty we all crave. Time strips us away of all that, leaving us stark naked, vulnerable... weak. But what can time do, really, except to pass? Nothing. And yet each passing moment is one that could alter our lives radically.
Today the sky could be bright and sunny, tomorrow it might dark, grey, and stormy. One day we could be right next to someone, the next day they are gone... forever. But again, what connotation does forever hold? What is the implication of a word as such and how much meaning does it comprehend?
Time is definite. As i ponder the clock ticks steadily, a silent affirmation that the seconds go by surely even as i type. Yet in an alternate sense time is indefinite, subject entirely to human comprehension.
There is no hard truth in this world except in one's own perspective.
And so, what is time? Timeless.