On Time

I woke up when the minutes I was lying on ran over, disappeared, disintegrated, vanished, and my warm cheek touched the freezing floor.

I had piled 45 minutes on the floor and rest over them. Jeees! They looked like an eternity, but now, that I’m still tired, they felt only like five.

While I was sleeping, they consumed one by one, making my comfortable cushion of transparent minutes every time less thick, and taking me slowly back down to the floor. Like if I was sleeping on melting snow, like if I was resting on bubbling foam.

The Universe is full with time… No! no! no! The Universe is made out of time. Mmm, let’s just say that if you take all the time that exists and put it all together it looks like the Universe! And since time is infinite, so is the Universe, and since time is mysterious and inexplicable, so is the great Universe. And since we are floating somewhere in the middle of the Universe so we are in the middle of time.

Sleeping on top of time, on top of a bunch of minutes, is sleeping on a little piece of Universe. Time escapes and goes away. The Universe takes it back and becomes bigger. I had a blanket made with minutes; I had a pillow made with hours and a mattress made with days. They all went to become a part of the Universe, where my dreams lay on a cushion of endless time.