Hard as you try to slow down time as we are aware of it the task is impossible. With every effort you try to, instead, go back in time selecting the precise moment where you threw it all away to hell. Memories like a bitter tear-stained on the back of your hand wiped away in shame, regret and remorse. Wondering about a time where you were unaware of how your life would unfold and begging the question of the future is impertinent; because you just have to wait.
That long book, you turn page after page desperate to skip the dull bits but the readers voice drones on without pause, without commentary and without haste. Dog-eared pages you flip back to time and again but its inevitable pace lures you back to plod along again, the story familiar and predictable.
Without a map the journey continues and you have only your fate, unknown, unplayed and unwilling to pretend to be anything else but your life, as you live each day.