The "C" has worn off the c-key on my keyboard. It's still a c-key, producing Cs without complaint, even though it has no "C" to mark it.
I don't seem to be marking time the way I used too. I know it's passing. I see the digits on my clocks change. I see the sun rise and fall. Yet, time has gotten progressively more compressed, collapsing more and more back onto itself. I can only guess that's what it does, until it and I reach the point where it won't pass, or everything will pass, all at once into something I can't define. At least not while I'm limited by this human brain.
Right now, I still count it, and it still counts. I don't count down. I count up. I count the time that's passed since. Since what? Mostly since sadness, I guess. A sadness that's its own plural. It too will leave me, or I'll leave it. Not yet. Not soon. It will still be here, even while I hide it. Just like that "C" that's left the face of my key, while it keeps on making Cs.