Never Enough Time:

The date was the 22^{nd of} July.

It was Monday. The worst day of the week. Monday meant the start of the 5-day cycle of school, and it all felt the same. Every second of every day, every small moment, was rolling into the other until she swore she was consumed by the feeling of nothingness. Eat, sleep, school, repeat. The cycle. Expect, now, there was no school. There was no walking to school at 8am sharp. There was no laughing with her friends because of something that happened at lunch. There was no gossip.

School was over, for the time being anyway. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she missed Mondays.

But was it Monday? Her mind struggled to remember yesterday. She got up at 3 in the afternoon, ate anything she could find, binged a Netflix show, started to flick through a book she had gotten years ago… a normal day. In lockdown, anyway.

Maybe it was Tuesday. Tuesday would make sense. What did Tuesday consist of? Waking up at 2pm, watching some Tik Toks, trying out a new recipe she saw on a video, face-timing her friends… she couldn’t think of the last time she spoke to one of her friends. She hadn’t been in contact for a while, with anyone. It felt as if she was drifting through a void of endless nothing. But that nothing was a light. A bright, white beam which she consisted of and that was made of her, for her. That didn’t help her remember the day it was though.

Wednesday. It had to be. The middle of the week, the weirdest day where you are either on top of the world or barely out of sleep mode. She felt motivated on Wednesdays. The thought of Friday looms closer, and the idea of sleeping in kept her going. Wednesday would mean trying to change her life in a day during lockdown. Starting a workout plan which guarantees “abs in 2 weeks!” or drinking water and eating fruit. Things she had forgotten about in lockdown because it was too depressing to be healthy. When did she last eat? She didn’t have a problem with food. So why hadn’t she eaten in… she didn’t know what day it was, let alone what it was yesterday.

The fourth day, Thursday, seemed reasonable enough. Now, this was the best day. Everyone at school would be buzzing, ready for Friday and the weekend. Thursday would consist of endless calls with her friends, maybe a walk around the block, maybe spend some time writing. Walking. When did she last walk? She couldn’t think straight. Everything was scrambled and her knowledge of the universe was clearer than the exact day of the week it was.

FRIDAY. No. She would know if it was Friday. She would have a sense of relief that she had survived another week. But instead, she felt nothing. So, it couldn’t be Friday.

Ah, Saturday. The day where everything felt possible. Where it felt as though infinity is you and you are infinity. The days of seeing friends and having sleepovers, going to town, eating out, seeing people in general. Those days felt like an eternity ago. Because they were. There was no more. It would be over soon. It will. Very soon, everything will be over. And the days won't matter.

Sunday; the day of rest. The day where everyone is lazy or productive. Where baking is essential. Where the smell of a homecooked meal drifts throughout the entirety of the house. Where there are music and sleeping in and reading. Sunday, the day where everything was peaceful. But hectic. Because it is when you realize, with nerves and disbelief, that tomorrow will be the start of the cycle again.

Monday.

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

Thursday.

Friday.

Saturday.

Sunday.

And repeat.

And suddenly, the seven days felt like a lifetime crammed into the blink of an eye or a walk to school. And every day feels the same because every day is the same. And she realized, as she looked down on the life she had, as she remembered weekdays and weekends, calls with her friends, walks in the rain, concerts, books, writing, eating, swimming, dancing, crying, laughing… she realized that it's too short. Life. And that there was no way she would’ve made it.

Because, in the end, she had no one.

The day was Monday. And Tuesday. And Wednesday. And Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.

Death doesn’t bend to time. She knew that now. She was that now. Every day felt the same. And the date? Well, it was her date. In this world, we all have a birthdate. When we are born, we have a birthday, and we celebrate life. But we also have a death date. When we die, we have a funeral, and we celebrate life.

It was a Sunday. And it was sunny. The date was the 22nd of July. And the Heaven’s smiled as she watched from the sky. It was a Sunday. She didn’t have time for long facetime calls with her friends. She didn’t time to walk in the rain. She didn’t have time to bake. She didn’t have time to write. She didn’t have time to read. She didn’t have time to tell those around her that she loved them, loved them so much it hurt her soul. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. They felt the same, every day was an unforgiving loop of the same 7 days.

 She didn’t live. She simply survived. Every day was the same and she couldn’t pinpoint an exact date where she was alive. And now, she didn’t have time. She didn’t have time to live. She didn’t have time to do all the things she promised she would. Didn’t have the time to make a calendar to know what day it was. She didn’t have the time to make it to the end of lockdown. She didn’t have time.

Because she was time now.

Time was her. And she was infinite.