Ticking

Time is neither backwards or forwards. It is not linear nor circular. It is at once a commodity and a construct, an innate sense of growth and experience and as fleeting as a hummingbird.

Time beats against the waves of youth, etching wrinkles like scars along our skin. We try to grasp it in filtered photographs and seven second clips filled with hashtags that only mar our memories and confuse our senses.

Time presses on. We float both forwards and backwards, inside out and upside down.

But we forget to simply exist.