Time comes in waves, is measured in pulses of light and dark. Not true light, mind, but this is how I imagine it-- the tightness and then the sigh as some pressurized valve loosens. I have never seen true light, but the sands whisper of it longingly as they tell their tales of something rare and precious. I envy them their fluid existence, swept up in a sea of that which is greater than themselves. I am a solitary being, tough and hardened, built to endure rather than enjoy.
This is something I wrote as a part of a group writing exercise a few months ago. We were given an animal and told to write something from its perspective. As an aside, I know nothing about mussels, so this is a pretty loose interpretation of the prompt.