Walking through the midnights...

Time in itself, absolutely, does not exist; it is always relative to some observer or some object. Without a clock or a clock without hands, what would time be? Without matter time itself is unknowable, for it is a function that needs to be measured in order to be known. Time is a function of matter; and matter therefore is the clock that makes infinity real.

His eyes were of different colours, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as an ocean wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. His face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath his left eye gave his features a disturbing asymmetry. His mouth never curved into a smile. The universe, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He was touched - by genius, by madness, by the darkness, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. He took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. He had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By his own account he spoke with angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. He was passionately kind to all living things. He was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever.