I feel Time pressing in on me, its cold breath against my neck. Time embraces me with thin, steely arms and tightens implacably when I struggle, pointlessly against it's bony chest. I remember when Time was a thought, a nonentity who I ignored and when I noticed it, jeered and dismissed. Capricious, I ran with gossamer feet through the threads of Time's net and laughed at what I thought it's futile efforts to entangle and imprison me.
I do remember moments when Time hung heavy, and we lay, beside yet apart gazing at the ceiling soaring above into an endless expanse of sky and moment that stretched into infinity.... my breath at those times loud in the pressing darkness, short, gasping... my eyes vainly seeking the dawn of morning's light to defeat Time's heavy, gross presence. Then I remember Time felt solid and real and I would feel the bed groan beneath the absolute weight of its reality and I would wail at the infinite stretching of a moment into an hour into an infinity of moments that seemed as if they would never end...
I remember Time when it would contract and flash before me, a blur of movement, of escalating seconds that rushed swiftly through my eyes, capturing hazy thoughts which coalesced and contracted until Time seemed to speed up into a kaleidoscope of colour and movement and thought and then suddenly, slow abruptly and I would look around me, confused, wondering at a landscape so terribly altered I barely recognized my surroundings.
Time softens, for a moment, its embrace and I shiver and look about me and wonder how I never knew that it was there all along, walking beside me, riding my shoulder, its fingers weaving the threads of my life with a skill and dexterity I never believed in until now, here, in the twilight of my life.
I narrow my eyes, and move restlessly, trying to gaze ahead - knowing that the skein of life which lies behind is so much longer than that which lies ahead. That the woven tapestry, at times beautiful, in places tattered and rough, colours muted and in other places vivid and glowing were woven in the space behind my eyes and moistened with the dampness of my obliviousness and flavoured with my indifference.
But Time and I are together now - whether I will it or not and it is only in this soft, grey landscape of my despair that I realize we have always been entwined, Time and I. That the softness of its early touch was merely a ploy to keep me quiescent, biddable. That when I ran I thought free and unencumbered, I was in fact running the pattern of Time's pattern, and its skillful fingers were twisting and turning and creating the pattern of a life I thought was mine but was, in the end, its choice.