A second hour minute day month year

I feel as though my concept of time ever since covid has shifted significantly. When I say this, I mean that I can’t fathom the idea of time moving ‘normally’ anymore, or whatever normal meant to me before the start of the new decade. 

The first 6 months of the year pass by too quickly. It’s January now but if I close my eyes for too long, it’s March and the ice is melting, the condensation on plants outside getting its moment to shine. I go for a nap after school, I’m tired. I wake up and it’s June, my clothes sticking to my body from the sheer sweat and my muscles seem to weigh me down and the days feel to drag on pleasantly. 

I cant seem to enjoy the time I have because it’s slips out of my fingers so easily, like it isn’t tangible. Like it was never real. Instead, it gets stolen from under my fingers by whatever it is going on in my life. Or in the world. 

At least, when it’s summer, I feel as though I have enough time to grasp the days better. Hold them for longer than usual before they vanish again, for a whole year. Those last 2 weeks in August mean just about everything to me, it’s my version of saying goodbye to the late nights I spend conjuring otherworldly scenarios in my head or discussing plans of our next little adventure with my best friend. 

Everything, apart from my sleep schedule, seems to fall back into place when school begins again. Yet, every year, I never fail at finding myself repeating the words, ‘I wish it was summer again.’ Even once we’ve begun to ease into September. Summer always seems like a foreign memory to me. Like I had been on some sort of mystery ride to a different planet, and I came back to earth with my memory wiped, only having a small recollection a few fond moments. I cherish it whenever it comes around. 

November is short and snappy, schoolwork piling on just a little more. I don’t mind, December is around the corner and that’s the month for fun. And the mild, or strong forlorn sense it brings along, kind of like a plus one. I know that isn’t just me.

When it’s December, I feel myself indulging in the simplicity of the cold weather just a little bit more than usual. I’ve probbaly already had some fun for someone’s birthday and I’m just counting down the days until the Christmas break. And while I do that, I can’t help but think to myself, ‘It’s December already?’ 

Yes, yes it is. Don’t be so surprised when you spent the whole of the previous month thinking the exact same thing, and the month before, and the one before that. It’s like a never ending cycle, except it gets a little cruel when you’re someone like me who can’t let go of small things, who doesn’t like change and someone who just doesn’t want to move forward. I say I’ve changed but it’s things like these that make it obvious that I haven’t. It’s hard. It makes me feel small, sometimes. I don’t want a new year and I don’t care for it. I just like being in the place I’m comfortable in because I don’t want any new responsibilities because I might not be able to handle them. Or maybe I just don’t want to. 

That’s why I don’t find the concept of time real anymore. At the very least, it isn’t something I like to think about. Just let me get lost in my own time.