I had always believed that time was an illusion invented by the mortals who wanted to mark down every second of their short life spans… it was how they tricked themselves into thinking that what had passed by went like that, never to return again. Thus, each moment that passed by was special.
It was the masses' way.
Time was a circle, not a line. Moments in life were stuck forever in a monotonous repetition, reoccurring tidal waves, they came only to retreat again and retreated only to come back once more, they meant very little. And very few times those waves dared make a small change, an inch front… an inch back.
But then… there were moments like this one. After being frustrated with his speed or the lack of it. I suddenly wished Mark had gone slower.
What was this… What was I feeling exactly right now at the sight of them together like that?
So what if they stood there, laughing like equals, or like friends…
So what if she had his jacket on?
