Time

Time is a funny thing. It seems to move differently for each of us. Time moves slowly for my mum, three centuries of life and she has at least three more left ahead. The fire in her blood keeps her alive, she tells me, as it will myself. I don’t know if I will see as many centuries as her, but she feels confident. Dad is different though. Already he looks three times Mum age, though he is truly three times the less. He tells me not to worry about it, that I will be stuck with him for a good while longer. The old man with the young woman.
 
With all my power I wish I could grant him that wish, yet I cannot grant my own wishes. My mum worries, I see it in her eyes, but she says nothing.
 
Vys used to say it was pointless to worry about. I know he cares, but sometimes it’s hard to remember