We’re usually trying to escape time. It’s a constant reminder of its own scarcity. No one wants that.

The trick we use to ignore its passage on the average day is that it moves just slow enough that we don’t notice it except in large chunks. Yesterday is largely indistinguishable from today, last week not that different than this one, months even blur sometimes, it’s not until we get to years that we start to think of big changes, real differences, but by then time appears fairly abstract.

Time is not part of memory. Time is the space between memories, it lives in the shadows, runs down between and fills the cracks.