There was a period when I did not care for or notice the trappings of time. The concept meant little to me as I was unaffected by its passing beyond a typical awareness of when to work and when to sleep. The sun was often the central part of the cycle that kept my mind on track. Knowing and understanding the intricacies of time from a new perspective is something I have come to appreciate.
This fleeting bandit of hours that occasionally gives me glimpses into the life of a woman across the globe has given me a new respect for the old man who wields the hourglass. He is not cruel or kind. His task is to ensure that the passage of his precious commodity remains constant. Always and unceasingly consistent.
I can steal away moments and share them with her through the sand. Moments that bring me joy. Though fleeting and often through bleary, tired eyes on her continent or mine, our smiles are always eager for each other. We have come to know one another through words. A powerful medium that is the distillation of true attraction.
Owing nothing to one another, we continue to stand watch on the world as the other takes rest. My night is her day, and my slumber is her sun—the simplicity of the cycle, our limitations, my muse. The intimacy is fully apparent all the while we wait.
Passion and pauses with intrigue unanswered. Each new day is a delightful challenge and an exercise in trust. The faith that throughout her day, my visage appears as certainly as hers shines in mine. The old man allows us moments each day to continue to grow and laugh.
Though the sands that we steal are precious grains, held tightly for moments and then turned back to the winds for others like us who long for their friends. For time belongs to no man, and no man belongs to time. It passes like a river running unseen and unheard but marked constantly by all.