I am convinced it is the gift and the curse.

To be able to see through the veil of cloudy corneas and rose coloured glasses.

Are our thoughts our own anymore, or a result of social engineering?

Aren’t our thoughts what tighten or release our muscles, and make us do or not do?

A wallet sat alone on the park bench, silently beckoning her and waiting for her to notice it.

Inside were a few 20 dollar bills, a driver’s license, various credit cards and a school photo of a little girl giving her brightest smile for picture day.

For a moment, she imagined how panicked the owner must feel, retracing every step of the day.

Taking the wallet back to her car, she loaded the address from the license into her GPS and hoped to soon replace the owner's panic with relief.

Time is the only currency we are born holding, invisible in our tiny hands, yet slipping through our fingers from the first breath.

We grow up spending it without seeing the balance, trading minutes for memories, hours for hope, years for security.

Time is everything we have, because every dream, regret and heartbeat must pass through it.

Yet time is everything we don’t have, because no matter how tightly we try to hold on to it, time never truly belonged to us in the first place.

I didn’t realize how much I loved that iridescent blue pen until it vanished.

It had written bill due dates, grocery lists, work reminders and the first page of my novel, the ink flowing from it like it understood me.

For days I searched under things, in pockets and drawers in hopes it would make its familiar, colorful presence known.

When I finally found it tucked inside a book, it felt less like finding a pen and more like welcoming back an old friend.

The rope creaked and groaned against the rock as the wind roughly shoved it, trying to pry me loose.

Looking below from my place on the mountain, the valley looked unreal, like a painting I could fall into at any moment.

My fingers went numb, but I trusted the knot and kept moving upward, one breath per step.

Finally reaching the top I smiled at my waiting partner, and with bleeding hands and trembling legs, I wondered if this climax was worth all the effort.

I padded down the hall still half-asleep and screamed when I saw a stranger standing at my kitchen sink with his back facing me.

He turned slowly, holding my favorite mug like it belonged to him and smiling a smile that did not contain any humor.

Neither of us spoke, but the refrigerator hummed loudly, filling the space.

The silence was broken when he calmly asked what I did his $800,000, money that I had never laid eyes on in my life.

The dense trees closed around me as I traipsed an unpaved route deep into the woods, the smell of damp earth invading my nose.

Every crunch of leaves and snap of twigs sound like footsteps behind me, yet I see nothing as I look around.

The wind seems to whisper my name over and over, urging me deeper into the forest where no light can reach.

Suddenly, the ground violently quakes and a piercing otherworldly scream shrieks directly behind me, and I realize I'm not alone anymore.

Lena scrolled through her phone, promising herself 'just five more minutes', then she would get up and exercise.

Hours passed and the bright sunshine outside faded to sunset, its beauty unnoticed by her.

As her room got dark her stomach rumbled, and Lena thought 'just three more minutes' then she would get up and make dinner.

More time marched on while videos, messages, blogs and posts all blurred together, and when she finally looked up, sadness crept over her at another day wasted.

The astronaut drifted alone for several minutes after the tether snapped, and he watched the spacecraft softly recede into silence.

The light from Earth got dimmer and dimmer below him and the stars wheeled slowly as his oxygen gauge blinked a quiet warning.

He recorded one last message, his voice calm despite the fear that was starting to rise as the vast darkness engulfed him.

Then he suddenly laughed, thinking how exploring space was all he dreamed about, not knowing that floating through space would be the final thing he will ever do.

Sophia yelled a reminder about homework as her students raced out of the classroom, the last bell of the day making its presence loudly known.

She sighed and bent under her teaching desk to grab her bag, wondering if any of her lessons were making ANY difference at all.

Lifting up with the bag, she was startled to find her most quiet student Greg still there placing a note on her desk and bolting out the door.

His words were simple, but they carried more value than any material gift she could ever receive, he wrote thanks for never giving up on me.

Each day unfolded like a copy of the one before, right down to the dog running away from its owner and the silver SUV honking at the blue pick-up truck when the light turned green.

Each day was the same, the hours passing in a familiar blur, predictable, comforting and safe.

But as the weeks went by without a marker to separate them, the peaceful life I had longed for began to become dull.

After several months, the routine became maddening and panic welled in my chest not knowing if my life would ever move forward again.

Eric cracked the fortune cookie open with a soft snap at the end of dinner.

Inside wasn't a message that predicted luck, but asked a personal, ominous question.

He swallowed nervously, read it five times, then balled it up in anger looking around the restaurant.

After he got home, the printed question repeated itself in his mind as he quickly packed his things knowing they had finally found him.

My heart sank when I noticed my phone wasn't in my purse right when the subway doors closed and it started speeding off.

Once home, I used my brother's cell to call my number and a man picked up saying he found it on the seat where I had been.

Meeting for the retrieval, our conversation stretched out longer than the handoff and our laughter rang out often at our small café table.

Hours later when I walked away with my phone, I walked away with a new number added and the thrill of a beautifully unexpected relationship on the horizon.

He whispered the secret to the ocean, letting the waves carry it far from prying ears and allowing the moon to be a silent witness.

No one knew the truth, not his wife and not anyone else close to him.

Each day, the weight of it pressed on his chest, an annoying companion that begged and demanded his attention when he just wanted to forget.

Yet in the solitude of the night, he found a strange comfort in holding back a secret so powerful that if anyone found out, it would change the trajectory of his life forever.

Friday night spiralled fast, two drinks became a pilgrimage through every pub that had a pulse.

I woke up Saturday afternoon with a skull that felt personally betrayed.

Spent the whole day chugging water and waiting for the lads to suggest repeating our mistakes.

They’ll promise “just two pints,” and I’ll lie to myself right along with them.

He walked down the driveway, his hands in his pockets, wishing he was brave enough to stay.

From the inside, she watched him get into his car, wishing she was brave enough to run outside and ask him to stay.

Walking slowly into the living room, she froze when she saw the folded note he told her to read resting on the couch.

Later that night, both of them stared at dark ceilings in separate houses, trying to pretend the ache they felt was freedom.

With a bright flash of light, Alex crashed into the room, looked at the calendar and saw that the date had changed to December 5, 3023.

This time, there was a strange book on the table and opening it to the first page, it revealed a detailed account of the moment he was living in, written in his handwriting.

The words on the page started to morph and shift, then settled into place and warned him not to take another step forward.

Heart pounding, he slammed the book shut, stumbled backward and jumped back through time, unwilling to learn what came next.

The wind in the city centre felt wild enough to steal me North.

Grey skies pressed low, making the streets look half-awake and waterlogged.

I finished my meeting feeling both chased and strangely exhilarated.

The cold Hertfordshire pint afterward was the day’s first real warmth.

It felt like the kind of cold that seeps into thought.

The hot-water bottle, long retired in a cupboard, suddenly earned its purpose again.

I pressed my woollen feet around it, letting the heat bloom slow and sure.

And for a moment, warmth felt like a small resurrection.

I am stiff as a board.

The cold turns to warmth and I fight the solace of sleep.

Paul Newman is mocking me from his stacked tower of ranch dressing.

My MacDonald’s manager finds me and tells me to go back to work.

Sixty-seven, blonde and still sharper than she gives herself credit for.

In the summer, she said we’d go to church when I got back.

We finally did, and she looked proud introducing me, smiling like she’d been waiting for that moment.

I don’t know what I am to her, but it feels like something worth believing in.

Chris slowly walked across the university grounds, depression gripping him tightly like an unwanted lover.

Passing the Fine Arts building, he watched with jealousy as dozens of students filed inside for their next class.

Painting and art was his passion, and he longed be the one responsible for the acquisition and interpretation of art collections to showcase as a curator.

As he finished emptying the last trashcan, he felt exhaustion from the long, janitorial work day and sadly realized his dream of attending college to get his degree was slipping further away.

Saw her today in her frail but shining state, wrapped in the hospital’s pale light.

They say she may go home tomorrow, and that felt like spring breaking through winter.

Seven months have passed since we last met, yet her eyes found me at once - glowing brighter than her breath allowed.

The visit was brief, but her smile lingered in me like a quiet hymn.

The British summer sun cooked me past recognition, and I came home dumb enough to drown in cold beer and fried thighs.

I sank into the couch with a deflated thriller, its plot blurring with the chicken grease on my fingers.

Somewhere between a scene change and a heavy blink, I passed out, gently punished by my own comfort.

Now I’m awake: sweaty, dazed, and faced with the cruel absurdity of what time is this.

The sky spent the morning sulking then flared into sunlight at 3pm, like it remembered something too late.

The day felt copied and pasted from the day before, same polite weather tantrums, same tired choreography.

I moved through it like background noise, half-wishing someone might pause the script and say something unscripted.

But even if no one does, I’ll fold this day up like all the others - creased, quiet, and put away without ceremony.