Time, the malleable system of measurement
Sometimes the task at hand is so cripplingly normal that time grows so cold and grinds its way across the floor
Other times its burning up, as we stress over the burning orange outline that gradually shrinks around what little left we need
But... What I like are the moments where time doesn't exist for us at all
Moments so distinct that time is shed from our concept of reality for just a little while
And we exist in a different way

The moments come quickly from a fog of aesthetic distinction
They run cellularly transparent across your skin, triggering that extra layer
The goosebumps, the rush,  those irises of yours widening and dilating or closing shut to let your ears see instead
Time, responsibility, the worrying and the mundane dropping from your shoulders, torso and legs
There is no self, there is no calculation

There is only now
And you ******* love it