Lifetimes can be lived in the matter of a year, even mere months.
Birth may be as complex and dramatic as a lifestyle change, or as simple as a new habit which burrows the larvae of parasitic decay deep into the subconscious of it's clueless host.
Death may be as excruciating as mortal death,
Or as pleasant as an epiphany.

Our relationship with our beloved time is reminiscent of a familiar couple.
When she is absent we yearn for her security.
When she is too much we wish she would finish her sentence and leave the room.

Regardless of how one feels of her at a given moment, we need her.
To deny her is to deny life.
She wears the pants in every relationship.
In this, we are slaves to her.
Be it teachings of philosophy, Billy Idol, a galaxy,
She'll always drop the axe....