Plot Over "Time."

Tonight, I've begun thinking a lot about time.

I went for my evening jog.

The moon was full, and that stroked me affectionately and put wind in my lungs.

I began to think about why I felt the first pangs of somber thought heavy in my heart.

Time is very finite, I suddenly decided.
You hear it said so often that it seems like a very shallow observation.

It's like a clock's face - divided into little portions and measurements and calibrations - each of those could be spent on something, but it all adds up to three-hundred sixty degrees and twenty-four hours, no matter how you slice it.

Goodwill, love, affection, effort, conviction, trust, faith...

These are all infinite and boundless things, certainly.

But they're all plotted over time, moving infinitely upward over a fixed length.