sand.

A year feels like no time at all to me. It’s a blink. A blip. It’s hardly enough time to change over my clothes from the summer – and it hardly gets cold enough nowadays for the winter coats anyway. A year is small to my mind, and it is terrifying in its accumulation. Once you have one, there is another, then three, then four…

But time is relative, I remind myself.

A year here is not a year there. There, every day is a year. Or is it a blink? Is that it? Have the last twelve months been mere seconds, running too fast to count? To catch? Running so fast that they may run forever if they’ve run a day. Or I was right the first time, and everything has moved slowly, every day endless, every hour a lifetime. The only things left to keep time the inhale and exhale of breaths. The beating of hearts. And not even that.

Not even that.

Read more from mypoetmuse and project creator, Matt Cantor @Gaza_Closed_Captions