THURSDAY

I don't recall if it was a Thursday or not, as time was bent so far back upon itself that I saw through the window of eternity for a whole lifetime, or maybe it was a heartbeat. Perhaps both. I have trouble telling the difference these days, these immeasurable days.

As it is, I was not born to measure such things and I refuse to leave this body thinking that the years, the slippery years, the hands that tick and tell me I am too late, far too late, that any of these at all have any sway on where it is that I am headed. If I want to know that, which I'm not sure I do, I might ask the wind. Perhaps I'd ask the sun, the sea, the stars, or the moon. The moon, who may in turn seek the tides to rise and rest and fall so I might silently drift without sail or sorrow upon the passages, so as to give myself time to be where it is I find myself. But time itself is a sly ghost of a gift because I always think I have more of it than I do, and so I too rarely give myself presence. And presence, as it happens, is the one who bent time back upon itself so I might glimpse eternity.

And anyway, I already know where it is I am going because it has been inside of me all this time. All this time is a trickster because I have known all along that I know nothing at all for certain. Though, what I don't know is, I don't recall if it was a Thursday aside from the good fortune of the day suggesting otherwise. But then again, ever since this Thursday superstition began, I realized I was in fact waiting for that particular day for something to happen. And whatever happened I would measure it as bad or good fortune, and so decided instead to live Thursdays exclusively, because why not? Time, after all, is a sly ghost who shifts so well into whatever shape a thought may take. I might as well ask time to bend so kindly into a sail and look to the wind for which way it is that we are going now, and whether it matters even, because all I seem to be when I look through that window is eternal.