On his arrangements, the time keeper wasn’t always so orderly. It comes out every now and then, a glimpse to what can’t be erased from the past. You wouldn’t know without spending a bit with him that, despite their immutability, he isn’t much into rules. Yes, he almost wants you to get away with some time, perhaps so it didn’t seem so in the right place always; But like everyone, he’s got a job to do. It doesn’t matter what you feel, or what you think might be possible – even if it is – He can’t keep them waiting, not if he wants to stay in good position.
There have been a few in the past that were called flukes in the records. Sometimes things elude you or someone a little more clever comes along and shows you what you didn’t know existed to lay your eyes on, of course everyone learns something. I guess this can’t really be told without touching on the others. Yes, I will have to speak on them because after all our stories, yours and mine are all woven together. It would be impractical to tell each of them separately when they all crisscross and lap!
It’s nice to finally meet you, the last face I’ll see, I’ll see that you don’t forget me.
Do you really want to hear about the keeper? Are you sure it’s not too late this time around?
He’s a very poignant man… shows up usually with his go to phrase in mouth, “You know me, we really don’t have the time for this” As he lights up one those cigarettes he’s always burning that never seems to finish.Told me once that it had something to do with the one paradox, you know that one where you keep dividing the remainder of the distance left to travel. Somehow you end up with an infinite amount of segments still to smoke, all a little less than before, but hey a little still counts as long as it isn’t effort. At least that is what he would say – He is always putting in the effort.
And in all fairness he isn’t being cold and calculating; We do have somewhere to be after all – If you don’t believe that, we should really get to talking about the record keeper at some point – This really seems convoluted, but you’ll just have to stick it out since you asked; I can’t apologize for something you’ll wish I hadn’t for later on.
Perhaps it’s all to make up for something he isn’t allowed to go back and change,
“Time heals all wounds. And if it doesn’t, you name them something other than wounds and agree to let them stay.” – Emma Forrest
I watched her walk around with it for a long time; She saw me do the same – It was in our eyes, in the way we hesitated to say hi. You know, everyone has questions they wouldn’t mind asking, but it’s too much to ask of a person if you aren’t sure they wouldn’t mind. It’s too much to try and press yourself into the cracks, and attempt to soak out whatever shouldn’t be left to fester. So that’s what happens. Eventually we get around to tending them or someone else comes around and reminds us that we should take care of it – That it is okay to take care of yourself. And that’s when we get the chance to grow, where we are reminded that silence is our friend. We want to say something, but we have broken that trust, and it is up to someone else to restore it. Don’t woe over what you did in error because that only leaves behind what should be removed. Years later it will be healed, and forgiven; All things in time will be fine.
I was chasing through the city of faith, if I could just reconcile my disbelief with where I had found my feet. She was inked – Far more than the sketches of past lovers covered her skin. Even the hardest of warriors can kneel before the softest of things; Don’t be fooled, this softness is purely out of love – I mentioned once – The fiercest thing I ever felt was her bearing fangs down on me. I quiver at the way I was rounded out, the way I was gleaned from roughness, the way my cracks were filled as she lay atop me pressing into whatever wounds I now have long become one with. That night she gleamed like the crest of a lighthouse from my chest, and still I could only pretend to not be blind to love.
Of course I wanted to ask, I felt it deep within me to know what you held, but I knew it wasn’t my place to – I always wondered if you understood my silence, and if you never did… I accepted how you’d see me.
“All that remains of that minute is time in all its purity, bone-white time. Marguerite Duras, from The Ravishing of Lol Stein
But her smile as she gleamed into me,
Well that was something to really look at,
To think how I got so blessed in this one,
60 seconds of pure melted euphoric butter
How stripped of a single worry I had chanced upon;
Like picking up a drink that’s not as expected,
A drink so cool and happening (I do know it’s happening),
That your mind refreshes, and for a bit – You can blink starry eyed into a night that is crisp as a new book; Tumbling through the pages pouring into the minds of characters you’d almost use a second wish up to meet for a night out; Yes, that’s the kind of minute it was, one you could hold on to for a while – Check my watch and realize I’ve still got it right under the little hand. I smile, you’re smiling because you’ve got no reason not to, I look down again and tell myself, “Keep this one, just keep it until the keeper comes asking questions about it’s disappearance from the records – Hell, he has all the time to come and find it.
Oh I must have gone around again, I forgot the power in these hands.
Time, yes, let me tell you about the time… keeper…
How much time had passed? Heart beat driving like Ayrton Senna in the Monaco Grand Prix; He took a few deep breaths and pictured a calm sea. Then he opened his eyes and the waiting was over. The calm sea he had painted rapidly rolled into The Wave by Katsushika Hokusai. His stomach dropped like Pheidippides after his run from the battle of Marathon to Athens. He really shouldn’t be so shook up. He wanted her to make her choice, but he wanted her choice to be the same as his. “How could I be so selfish,” he thought. Quickly everything he had lined up in his head departed with his exhale.
Just as quickly as it all left him, it all came rushing back as he sucked in a large breath of cool air. He began sweeping in his head. Everyone is always looking for something. They might not admit it to themselves, but you can read it. Especially when you know what they’ve been through. It’s not even a forecast; It’s actual. They have hopes hanging from their lips the way a ripe fruit weighs down on its branch. Even Tantalus wouldn’t reach for his hopes though. The way that forsaken man looked up at him and shook his head should have been more than enough to go ahead and lower the casket on this. He never locked doors though. He was never afraid of what might come barging through uninvited.
The sun is high noon, beating down on his skin like a barrage of compliments from someone you haven’t seen in a while. He knew standing there too long would get him burnt, but he had reason to wait, more a feeling he couldn’t shake. He checked his phone for the time. One of the few nice days the year had seen so far, and on his mind was a place and time far from where he stood. He had spent a lot of his life waiting. He’d been wrestling with that concept now for a while. Why should any time in life be spent waiting? When the right time is near it will appear, he thought. We get so carried away, obsessing over what’s next. We could just relax and look at what’s now, then when what’s next is up, turn to it. For him the problem wasn’t waiting. It was wasting. He expected the best out of things. He saw no reason every moment couldn’t be everything it dreamed of being. Why every person couldn’t become more! He didn’t like to waste.
Yet here he was. Wasting. At least he was enjoying the sun. That was never a waste, however the fact could not be removed from his current situation; Again he was waiting. He noticed he had been checking his phone for the time incessantly. He was a dreamer. Maybe the king of wishful thinking. He could blame all those films. The ones about love and how things break down, but then through some sheer willful hearts and circumstance or luck, everything works out. Yeah they had watched a few of those. He was a romantic. He didn’t consider romanticizing a waste. It did waste a lot of his days though. He spent every other minute rearranging what he would say. He had to keep in mind that it wasn’t his choice. “I can’t make you love me,” he thought like Tank covered from Bonnie Raitt. I don’t want you to be “Somebody that I used to know,” like that silly Gotye song. He already knew the answer. He had felt it in the long days and lonelier nights. He knew she felt it too, but he wanted to give her space to find her happiness. It wasn’t his decision.