Letter to Time

Dear Time,

Yes, it is strange that I can even venture one to you. You, of the supernatural sort. You, surpassing everything's control. You, who mostly ends up being a philosophy beyond anyone's understanding, or on our wrists and walls as a commodity. You are so elusive. You bask in that glory, don't you? The grandiose of silently observing each thing.

Time, you just pass, and move on, right? Like that mountain river, never to return. I realized an era has passed when yesterday I told someone, "tomorrow we can go in my car". My car. That is huge, and quite unbelievable. All my life it has been my father's car, or later, friends' and cousins'. Today, it feels different. Today is that day when I will be able to say, "my car". It feels wiggly. I think of you. How one day my uncle intended to teach me driving and I bumped while reversing. Then another when the man I was to marry had that condition of knowing how to drive. And later, me running hundred and thirty six errands and fulfilling twenty nine duties while I drove around. You registered all of that, didn't you?

In a matter of hours I will have my own car, for the first time. I feel very accomplished, and strangely calm. It is a testimony to the chapters and episodes I have lived, in you. It will be a wheel of stories that would churn out every moment. Keep watching and let me breathe in you. I wish I could be like you -- all-absorbing and all-tolerating.

Till I meet you again, in another letter,

K.