The Language of Time

One Year.  To the day.

Twelve Months.

365 Days (366 depending on how you count Leap Year).

What it is about the language of time?  Some words make time seem everlasting and crawling/creeping/ancient and sloth-like and sluggish.  It becomes a slow-motion entity when you consider a Year.  Or 365 days- 365 Days?!?!  That is a Year from Now!!  An eternity of seasons; cyclical, cynical, constant!  An yearternity.

But 12 Months... that is altogether different.  12 tiny months, each with their own holidays, meanings, moments.  They are short.  And sweet.  And twelve of them make up the eternity of the year  in nice, neat little packages comprised of evenly spaced weeks.

It has been exactly one year since my mental break.  One year since the trigger was pulled and I began unraveling and turned inward to punish myself and everything about me that I thought deserved punishment- which was, is, essentially everything about me.  One year since heartbreak.

One year of heartbreak.

One year of such self-hatred that I literally stole (and continue to steal) my own breath with the amount of pain I created (create) for and perpetuated (perpetuate) against myself.

And is not that another strange inflection in the language of time- past and presence tense?  What is the past?  What has passed?  And what is the present if not a culmination, an amalgamation, of the past and passed moments?

What is today if not the end of a long year?

I hope tomorrow will be different.

I know tomorrow will be.