then the rest is just whenever

i knew it would be a long day when i was sitting in a small room, facing two half windows, listening to the sound my boots made against the edge of the table as i kicked my legs back and forth, and watched the sun come up.

i thought, to console myself, each minute is the same; they all move forward, uniformly, in succession.

and then i remembered the same things, so many, many minutes later, as i stepped out the office door into a waning daylight, crunching through leaves, feeling in each step the length of a day that might have aged me by years.

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