Time is a Sphere

Time has edges that fold in on itself. Get close enough to see the outside, to glimpse the boundaries of past, present, and future, and be propelled forward by the inevitable march of space, or backwards by the unsalvageable past.

Or, stand still. Stopped. The old days chasing, the unknown days pulling away.

A subject of your last minute of existence, your last year, your last love; your last.

Ever equidistant from the edges of your own chronological consciousness, graspless, timeless.

Time is a sphere. Time has edges that fold in on itself.

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