We live in a strange dual-existence. On the one side, time passes predictably and ever-onward. Each day, indeed, takes a day to pass. On the other, though, our lives have slowed to a crawl.
Time becomes meaningless, in this place without change. Hope moves out of reach and light fades from the world. Only flame illuminate the devastation of our future. Behind it all we hear the quiet, mocking, laughter of those that won. Those that took our power and our freedoms.
Establishing the boundaries of our new lives we concentrate on what we can. Answers don't exist for the question we all ask: when will this end?
We've shut ourselves down. What does this mean? I try to keep my mind quiet, my anxiety at bay; pacified. I don't always win. None of us do.
Even on the days of rest, rest never comes. Life needs upkeep. And the kids wouldn’t let me rest, anyway.
I can’t look away. I can’t not see it. My mind won’t relax. I must tidy.
Not really much to say. It’s the weekend. A slow day. Not much going on.
In the war against time, our only ally is our slowly-faltering body. But in aiding the body, we can also aid the mind, building defences against both time, and our own lives.
A faded hope matches the mood of a dull morning commute.
I watch the quiet recharge, observing myself from a distance, even as I game. A weekend passes. I’m better for it.