Whether we like it or not, time goes on. It reminds me of a song Bilbo writes, ‘Roads go ever, ever on’. No matter what I do, time marches past me at its own steady pace.
Time has not sped up as I have gotten older. It goes neither faster or slower in my childhood than it does now. Rather, I have become more aware of its passing.
As a child, time was to me as a lake is to a fish. Vast and calm enough for all of my games, so big I got lost in it, wandering around in boredom until I came upon something new. I did not think about time, rather I considered what I would do in it.
The older I grew, the more aware I have become of the passage of time. Time has become a rushing river I try to clutch between my fingers and keep in my hands. The harder I grasp, the faster it slips away.
I fill my time to the brim in an attempt to bring it captive. ‘Aha!’ I say to myself. ‘This event will bring time to its knees!’ Time, unbothered with my attempts, moves on.
Time can be filled, but not hurried along, it can be emptied, but not slowed. It is up to us what we will do with it, but even the greatest attempt can not alter its passage.
Shaina Merrick
The Beauty of a Story 