From 139f52268fb4bf6746ca6285473f3f9e2d85ee65 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Madison Rye Progress Date: Sat, 26 Oct 2024 14:59:37 -0700 Subject: [PATCH] update from sparkleup --- writing/post-self/time-story.md | 1 + 1 file changed, 1 insertion(+) diff --git a/writing/post-self/time-story.md b/writing/post-self/time-story.md index a471bec3..3e61a1ed 100644 --- a/writing/post-self/time-story.md +++ b/writing/post-self/time-story.md @@ -1,3 +1,4 @@ + Time is a story I tell myself. Sentences twine around seconds like tendrils of loveliness or despair or energy or lethargy. Minutes are paragraphs of weal or woe. My hours are scenes that I live out. Days: stories. Years: novels. But a life? What is a life, anymore? Three centuries and no sign of quitting, and a lifetime seems to have lost meaning. Perhaps someday my life will end, and I will have left behind a finite oeuvre. Perhaps I will simply decide that I have had enough and draw a line across the end of the page and, however many bookshelves of story are left behind shall be all that ever was.