"Time is never a friend."

This resonated in a comment I received because, along with many other things, this has been on my mind. That time is the Bastard to Irony's Bitch. Of all the things I forget and then must relearn, one of the most frequent is the realization that time moves at different paces for different people.

And what seems an eternity to me is mere seconds to someone else. And vice versa.

It traps me, Time, again and again, tripping up the best of my intentions and, quite often, the best of myself. Time wasted, time lost, time being lost, my own personal time counting down and being *finite*.

::rubbing eyes::

Time is a Bastard because it's ability to distort itself in my head leads quite often to a painful reminder of my own frequent self-absorption. How often must I relearn that Time does not exist for me alone?