A Few Little Jots

"There is no such thing as an ordinary life." - L. M. Montgomery

I was exploring the recesses of my google docs files, and I came across these little ditties. They are not too old, but they were slightly better than I remember. 

The Blur of Time

I had a thought.

Time is just going by

How strange

What Happened?

What Changed?

A moment is simply a moment.

But is it?

Or is it a blur?

I tend to not decide.

It is what it is.

How much is imaginary?

How much is real?

What is there to see?

What is there to feel?

Mechanical? Or not?

Life passes by.

Just a dream,

But not a lie.

In truth, be there some,

It is the ticking of a clock.

Whose clock?

That is the question.

Rather, a decision.

The consensus being that one ought to choose.

For himself, for his thoughts.

Let them brink on reality.

Let not the reality be too defined.

Let his thoughts float away- away.

Some have called it freedom.

Some have called it insanity.

Me?

I call it what it is.

Unexplainable.

This thing we call time.

Heavenly?

I think not.

Our little minds, our little thoughts.

Our lack of understanding what is and what isn’t.

In Heaven, time stands still.

Eternity, they call it.

Oh, to understand this eternity.

The mystery lies within that word.

Puny minds, puny thoughts.

No extension.

No answer to what lies beyond the clock.

It is all a blur.

To answer it, one would have to be defined.

There is but one who knows the answer to the question.

He is real,

He knows.

He created time itself.

The desire to know that He is the answer.

Those who differ are not wise enough to see beyond the sound.

The sound of the clock, the sound that is there.

The sound that time makes, going by-

In a blur.

Runaway

I guess that’s it then. No more. Thought Sera. All the bliss she had known, the life she was to leave, was she never to return?

The thoughts poured into her head and out once more with rapidity, so that nothing made sense and all was chaos. Sighing, she lowered her head. A great sob escaped the utmost recessions of her soul.

To go away and never to return- can such a thing be? She shook her head at the feeling of longing to remain where she had known happiness. No. It was not to be. The whistle of the train she could hear now with her own ears. It was too late. She stood, and was about to answer it when a familiar voice sounded a little way off. Turning, she saw a little girl, maybe six or seven, with a tearstained face that much resembled Sera’s own grave one.

“Sera,” said the child in little voice, “Sera where are you going?” Sera looked at the face, those big eyes staring with no understanding at her. “Little one, little Molly, I must go. I-” She stopped, not wanting to continue and feeling that in another moment things could be so different.

On an impulse, she rushed to the little girl and embraced her. Then Sera stood, turned, and walked away. Before she got onto the train, she sighed these words, “Someday I’ll come back, Molly. I’ll come home, my sister. But I know -I KNOW- you won’t know me then.”