Time passes me by, in hurried flurries of bundles, rushing like holiday shoppers. Where does it go? Once Time is spent and gone, where it leaves us is a mystery. It must go somewhere. And new Time? Where do the waiting seconds and minutes pass their moments, waiting for their time to shine. Where does Time begin?I’m surrounded by its love. Counterintuitive to the panic, to the anxiety — which might feel like it lasts for an eternity — I know it doesn’t. Time will hold my hand, soothe my frantic heartbeats with its ticking and tocking, stroking my hair with each hour’s caress. With each swing of the pendulum, my pulse beats in time. Married for time, seconds to seconds and minutes to minutes.