In every moment of every minute there is a second which has half of you attached to it.
So very slowing as the clock ticks by and in short I have been to you a billion times today.
There is a hastening of the world and random madness therein;
yet all movement here stops. For in time there is nothing but the time as we shall see pass, not as it shall pass, nor as it shall see us. In you, the clocks stop and stare back at me watching and waiting for my next thought to pass. They let me decide which hour passes more quickly and which will draw long the years. At peace and yet, struggling to contain the moments back to their intended purpose and focus.
Finally collapsing into you I concede, the half that is me, in you, in each half second, makes time complete.