Time

The number one killer of an otherwise normal romantic relationship isn't kids, or money, or problems in general...it's TIME. Or rather, let me be more specific: ROUTINE which is a by-product of TIME. I regularly talk to people of various backgrounds, walks of life and ages: my passion rather than my practice. It is from these multitudes of conversations that I find answers to certain introspections...as well as more questions. 

It's been a rough ride this year on the social front; Leaving some scars that will take time to heal. And yet I know that time isn't the healer of wounds...time just is. It passes unhindered by our hopes and desires. Before long, the reflection in the mirror gets older, the sounds of kids, pets, lovers and friends get softer and there's no more job to rush to and there are no more projects to complete.

"I just need some time to get my feelings back on track." I texted. "How about next week? When would it suit you?"

A day passed before the answer showed up.

"I don't have time to wait for you any more." 

I'd wondered in that moment what could possibly have triggered his fragile patience to implode considering he'd not made any particular effort on my behalf besides waiting for me to make all the moves.

"Ok." I answered. I'd expected more friendliness...more care considering the time we'd taken to known each other. 

I let it go without a fight this time. I'd fought enough for a previous, much more painful rupture. 

I've been surprised on multiple occasions at hearing young men and women (much younger than me to be specific) telling me that they have no time for fun or a relationship.

And yet, I thought sheepishly...'you have time to text me (and others) day after day, working your web around something that isn't real.'

"We didn't have time for each other anymore." Said a friend of mine once, during a more serious conversation. "The house, work...the neighbour!" He laughed nervously. 

 It's funny (not funny) how easy it is to lose track of time when obligations pile up and routine sucks you in. 

I remember a couple of months ago when the fights were constant, divorce was a word, and all our time was spent climbing up the scaffolding onto the roof, patching up leaks in the middle of the night. The relentless beating of problem after problem while everyone else around us seemed to touch perfection.

As we ascended for the third time at 3am in the morning, rain pounding against metal and wind blasting from the North...I felt like crying. But I didn't...instead, I paused, collected my thoughts and began reciting loudly, above all the noise so he could hear me:

"Just once, I'd like a regular, normal Christmas. Eggnog, a fuckin' Christmas tree, a little turkey. But, no. I gotta crawl around in this motherfuckin' tin can." 

He looked down at me, headlamp blinding me and laughed!

"John McClane forced to crawl through yet another ventilation shaft." He recited back.

"Die Hard baby!" We both cheered in chorus. 

"Let's get this show on the road..." He added, taping the plastic sheet around the chimney.

Often, there isn't the right time or enough time for anything. You can't plan the fun or the future far in advance. 

You can grab hold of an idea and sacrifice time from one set of obligations to meet halfway in some new place and kiss longer, feel deeper and play harder.  

"I'm sorry...I need some time..." Texted a friend.

"I'll wait." I replied.