"Thoughts about Time"
Time used to be something I planned my life around. The calendar set the rhythm—appointments, plans, next week, next year. And there was always something afterwards.
It isn’t like that anymore.
Now I feel time, more than I measure it. It no longer unfolds in years, but in moments.
A conversation that lingers a little longer than expected, simply because there is room for it.
A quiet glance I remember, though I can’t recall why— yet perhaps I might, if I give the memory a little time.
A calm morning when the world has not yet begun asking things of me, and my mind is not yet carrying the weight of the time still to come.
Once, time was something I took for granted. Now it feels like something I own too little of. And the time I do have I use more carefully.
I no longer live mostly in the future. I live more here — in the present. At least I try to.
Sometimes time feels shorter. Not as if life is becoming smaller, but as if life and time have grown more intense.
As if each moment now carries a deeper weight of meaning.
The strange thing is this: I have less time than I once believed.
And yet there seems to be more life in the time I have now.
Time is no longer something that simply passes.
It is something I step into, something I am present in, something I notice and quietly cherish.
Moment by moment.
— Pia, living with dementia
