Dear Time,

If we could just get on the same side, I know we’ll both come out of this life intact. You may see things from a different perspective, and I am disadvantaged in that regard, of course, because your principles bookend my existence, and I am limited to your will. But for a moment indulge me.

What I propose is this: Let’s work together. Imagine–a world in which you exist as you are, and everything proceeds as normal, except that I’ll have the ability, at my will, to lean in and whisper in your air, Stop. When I say stop, please, if possible, do just that. Focus your attention on some other part of the universe and allow me to remain in a single moment of my choosing for a duration of my choosing. Do you see how this compromise is mutually beneficial? I get to enjoy a single moment* while you get a bit of a rest, a lightened load.

In fact, if I could stretch your graciousness a little more, may I ask for the ability, for lack of a better term, to press your rewind button? I don’t care for many of the moments I’ve experienced. But there is one. A picture serves as my only memory of it. My father was young; he was lifting me in the air with such an expression of joy that it could be confused with agony; I was young as well, seven or eight or ten; and I was happy; I was happy to be able to be lifted by his strength, an experience, as I’ve now come to learn, that slowly ceases to exist as a possibility the older I get; now, as an adult, I don’t remember being lifted by his strength, ever; but there is that picture, which is proof, which is a moment, which is a memory, which is a truth inscrutable and existent only to the deepest personal self, which is where happiness lies, which is inaccessible because of your fundamental principles.

Herein lies my frustration.

What I’m asking for, at bottom, is for you to stand out and stand off. By relinquishing some of your power, you will have done an entire species a service so profound and life-altering, they’ll be stunned for several lifetimes trying to put into words, no, into thought, even, what it means to them, to us. I put my faith in your kindness, though I know you are abstract and metaphysical, and so by definition unable to receive or read this letter.




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