Time has no patience. She surges forward with little thought to those she leaves behind. She becomes frozen, frigid – her face so cold it takes an ice pick to penetrate her icy existence. But, when I grasp her cool hand for even a moment, I feel powerful. As she pulls and tugs and rushes away, I feel a momentary surge of accomplishment, only to be reminded just as quickly of her fickleness. Here’s to Time – C Jobe

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