Dear Moment,
I have noticed surrounding me, all subjects are mastered and marked by time. Think of the obvious; tree-rings, stretch-marks, glaciers.For instance in a rock, time is archived into layers of sediment, into this silent, mute, mass. A fossil is literally a time capsule, a creature petrified forever, a momentum, solidified forever.
Time is you, moment, and the sound of the ticking clock plays at the beat of your heart. Still it seems that even though we share the same clock you are always one step ahead of me and I always run behind.
Moment, it is you I wish to catch, yet you seem to be always on the run. As the marks you leave behind remain just the scar after a healed wound. As the traces you leave behind are just evidence of your existence.
Moment, I want to freeze you, operate and deconstruct you.
Why are you so volatile; why can I not touch you? Why can I not explore your shape and weigh your weight in the palm of my hand?
As I attempt to conserve you, I lose you. As a phantom you appear and disperse into thin air yet again.
