Much has been written about time. This is my futile and highly egocentric attempt, adapted for E2.

The concept of time has me scared shitless. I guess it might be because I hate losing things, and the very definition of time is such that moments are lost at the same rate they come into existence.

If there was ever a sinner punished with an intricacy exceeding that of the condemnations of a Greek drama, time must surely be it; dispatched to eternally commit suicide as it is painfully reborn, this sorrowful villain must behold its own offspring and twin sister being ripped from her own womb, and while the newborn gives up a grinding scream of torment at its first twisted breath of air and the realization that while the newborn's mother and sibling has died giving birth, it is now the still blood-soaked infant's turn to give birth to yet another generation of never-lasting moments.

And they claim that 'time heals all wounds'. When time itself is but a single, giant wound, a blood-stained headstone commemorating a blood-stained headstone that was once in its place, though no one remembers it as the past is lost, swallowed into its own giant vacuum, and turned inside out to display a nonexistent face to the outside world. For the truth is that most moments are lost without even being recognized as such by any living entity.

Most people cannot even fully recall in detail a moment that passed only minutes ago, and only a few moments stay with us fairly intact for the giant and at the same time ridiculously meager collection of moments limited to what we refer to as our lives. Usually, these memories are recollections of lost moments or of mistakes made, which caused the loss of other things. I suppose these could be seen as moments lost in vain.

While happy memories deplore the loss of a feeling that existed in symbiosis with its associated moment, regretful memories deplore the loss of an opportunity to have acted differently. I guess I just hate losing things.