Isn't it strange how we define time simply by how we live in it? Often, my mind wanders to the presence of it abroad.. As I sit down to my Christmas feast this year, I'm trapped in the thought that elsewhere, some are just stirring from their beds, scuttling down the stairs to unwrap their packages. Others are stuck in the past, delicately arranging a plate of sugar cookies for the plump man in the red suit. And while I may be stuck here raking the dead autumn leaves, another is sun tanning on a beach at that exact same moment. I also process the possibility as I stride down the pavement with my hand entangled in my beloved's, that someone somewhere is doing the literal same.

As children, we all shared the general speculation that time was just an endless number. And though our clocks and calendars constantly changed, those same numbers would reappear time and time again. We became accustomed to the idea that we'd always have the "time of day"; We would always have the chance to do something or even do it over again. Growing older though, we began to realize that time was shorter than we had once assumed; We started to grasp the concept of it through the loss of those who held special places within us. Because one day, we all understood that time..doesn't stop for anyone and it certainly is never guaranteed.