This was a Creative Writing Assignment and I was just plain bored when I wrote this. When I read over this, it made me really, really wonder why I even bother to actually think of these things.


The Stream of Consciousness Writing

Time

Time is a very odd thing. It only moves forward. Never looking back. Never stopping. Never slowing. Never hurrying.

Yes, time is a very odd thing.

There are times of happiness. Times of tears. Times of joy. And there are times of Life. And…there are times of death.

Time…Why must time be this way?

Why does it ignore us? Does it even have a heart?

Should time even be called a thing? Or is it even a thing?

…Everything. Time is either your friend or your worst enemy. Time is your unwanted teacher. Time is your slave driver. Time is your nurturer.

You make promises that will be made at a later date.

You meet others in the future.

You loss people you love dearly. And yet you gain another to love.

Must one be so sad? How odd. Why be angry at time? It is innocent, yet cruel.

A baby and yet it is the eldest and wisest of us all. The strongest and yet the weakest. The beginning and the end. The night and day.

Why is time like this? Does time love? Does time care? Does time cherish us and wrap us in its warmth?

Time? It's not just a clock ticking away by the second, moving by the minute and gliding by the hour. It's a person. A place. A thing. It's everything one can imagine it to be.

Everything has a time. A pencil's time begins the moment it's created and ends the moment it has been over used. A stuffed animal has its time beginning the second its stitches sealed in the stuffing and dying the minute it can no longer hold itself together.

Then again, time is a very odd thing. A mystery greater than the greatest mysteries in the world. A child different than the others. An elder, older and wiser, than the oldest of olds. The strongest warrior than the legends speak of. A thin, delicate flower petal that easily tears the moment something touches it.

But, now I really have to ask you something, Time.

Just…Who are you?

Are you…my teacher? My guide? My invisible mother?

Who are you to me, time?


Hmm...I wonder if this made any sense to you guys... Tell me what you guys think about this! I really want to know what you guys think of this little subconscious of mine.

-A Cloudy Sky