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Time moves differently

July 17, 2017

He’s standing on the rock looking out over the Bay, with one eye on his kids playing in the sand. The water is rising, the tide is coming in but it’s moving slowly. He’s not concerned. 

Five minutes ago, he told his wife to go for a walk with her friend. It’s fine, he told her. The kids are happy, having fun. Come back in a little while. 

But he’s been standing since she left. He looks more impatient. He keeps looking around, away from the vista. Is he looking for her?

She’s walking and talking. Her friend’s dog likely sniffing everything in sight. 

He checks his watch again. He takes a photo of a lone young woman tourist. He is friendly. Asks her to check the photo to make sure she is happy with it. She is. 

He checks his phone. He hasn’t sat down. His arms are crossed. He’s tapping his foot. 

I sit nearby. I have recovered from the worry during the interminable wait for my loves’ journey. I can rest again. 

Time moves differently for the one left behind. 

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