There are those that want it to come to a complete halt, frozen solid and white, like an ice sculpture stuck in a peculiar pose. This is the only way to stop that heart-wrenching moment, that robs them of their blue skies.
Then there are those that want it to quicken its footsteps and flip by, like the pages of a notepad giving motion to squiggly drawings, in order to get the next paycheck or start that dream job.
Me? Every now and then I want it to make a stop by the side of the road and enjoy a leisurely doughnut, maybe join in on the freckled giggles of the little girls hula hooping on the concrete pavements, and sing nursery rhymes of broken eggs and fiddles.
But sometimes I just don't care whether time shoots up the skies or gets weighed down with iron, especially when I've got my favorite chicken goulash served with fine couscous on an afternoon such as this one, where the sky frowns with dark clouds and spits angry beads of rain.
As far as I'm concerned, the brown-eyed little boy on the corner of the street could be the keeper of time, making sure it walks on nonchalantly, with no regard to people's wishes, leaving in its wake footprints of sadness, joy and everything in between.