Six, a number, a word assigned to a quantity by man
Month, time, a quantity with no meaning besides what we define
All are it\'s slave, but we are it\'s definers
It drags us onward, yet we are it\'s creators
It\'s killing us while it heals old wounds
It motivates us yet holds us back
Perhaps those in the middle are the best acquainted with it, so stuck in paradox
They are an endless ocean of contradiction
Their tides reaching, withdrawing and receding evermore
Fluctuations of emotion and thought,
Energy and love, like phases of the moon
The young see them as old, the old see them as youth
Treated as low, expected to act high
The middle class of age, caught between the war of peasants and nobles
To a peasant, six months is an eternity stretching through endless voids they may not see.
To nobles, six months is a blink, hardly worth thought or time.
When in the middle, it just is.
Time.