In my youth time passed quickly without my being aware and slowed a little in early adulthood. Eventually, as I grew much older, once again its speed accelerated and each year it seems to go faster each day. Possibly, in the twilight of my life, time may pass so quickly that I may feel that it has slowed down, but in truth, time does not slow down, only I can slow down.
Then I think of the the time when my crepuscular years will end, the time at the end of my life when I envision the days moving forward so fast, faster and faster each day, until suddenly a day becomes all days, and then I will know there will be no days, or they will seem to slow down until the collection of all the days in my life will become sludge holding no chance of new days forming.
As I think about all of this I compare my life to the billions of years it took our world to be made and it becomes poignantly clear how short my time is. If I divide my life into thirds then I have already entered the final third and in one future day I will approach my final gauntlet. This final challenge, a period of transformation from independence to dependence is something I shall not like and suddenly a feeling of hollowness enters my mind.
And so, my guardian stands watch, battered by what I do to myself and by the relentless passage of time. Each year a little more of my strength withers away, tiny connections in my brain that once allowed me to quickly understand and evaluate my actions slowly become porous and detach; the silent functioning of internal organs becomes less guaranteed. Hopefully, my guardian will continue to protect me from escalated deterioration as long as its form is maintained.