Time is a warping juggernaut. Age, its ill-begotten offspring.
Perhaps you’ve felt it, my dear. Perhaps you’ve felt the weariness, the aching in the bones; the strange sensation that somewhere within you, an audible tick, tick, ticking can be heard, marking every last second. I’ve only just realized: the ticking has always been there, the only difference is that it now has grown loud enough for my ears to perceive.
It’s enough to drive a man insane.
I was born October 19th, 1943. I have known life, in all its grim glory, I have known fear, I have known despair. These elements have shaped me, weathered me. I cannot begin to tell you all the ways I have had to change myself. Devore, of course, is not merely who I am now, but a compilation of who I have been. Strange, but the truth nonetheless.
Here I am now, in the twilight of my life, surveying my crinkled and sunken old mug, listening to my internal clock as it draws ever nearer to midnight. Yet I must not give in, must not succumb too early to what is already coming. Why, I ask myself? Well… a little voice says, would Hannah want you to? Would Cleo? The truth is: I don’t know. I don’t know, because they aren’t here to give me purpose anymore. I have been running on autopilot for so long, it’s all I can do but to white-knuckle for the remainder of the flight.
That is the advice I offer to you, my dear: hang on. The times are taking their toll on us, on the world. It will get worse, but hang on, because eventually the turbulence grows tolerable. Or perhaps we only grow used to it.
Until then: tick, tick, tick.