by Tahira Rifath


It was 10:54 am precisely thirty minutes ago. I had leftover pizza thirty-five minutes from this very time. In ten minutes, I aim to successfully put my thoughts to words. In 240 minutes, I will religiously check my blog for signs of reassurance from strangers and friends. In seven weeks, I hope to have completed my internship. Two weeks after that, I’ll be on a quest to explore Egypt. In those two weeks, I hope to do many things. In the first day I will meet strangers and make love to their thoughts. The line preceding this was edited in a way so as to not change perceptions of me.

Four years ago was where I first experienced love. Today, I can no longer express nor feel love. Six minutes ago I wanted to write. Fifty-five minutes ago I decided to write but instead ate leftover pizza. During those fifty-five minutes, I spoke my mind out for twenty minutes and made an embarrassment of myself. Seven minutes ago, I discovered wonderful music. Two minutes ago, I was rechecking my calculations in the hopes I would not make a fool of myself, although that has proven very difficult over the years. In five months and three days time I hope to no longer make a fool of myself. In one year, five months and three days time I hope to know many things. In two million and something years, humans are still unaware of their purpose on earth. In 120 minutes I will surely fall asleep again. 5760 minutes is the amount of time I should’ve had my missing package. Fifty-two weeks is far too little time for a year. Now is when I should’ve ended this post. Right now is far too long a time where I have led myself astray.

It is now 11:46 am, little has changed except for the sun’s location and my pulse rate. And the pulse rate of seven billion people – three of whom, are people I will sacrifice my life for. Sixteen minutes ago is the amount of time I had hoped to put my thoughts to words. Zero, is the number of people who will remember you when you’re dead.

11:56 is when this post ended.