sometimes time is a bad measure of distance.
its like that ghost you meet when you’re walking home all alone on cold dark nights in kwazulu natal. the one that walks you home and talks to you and makes you feel safe except that when you eventually part ways its 3 days later and you’re in the free state and most likely schizophrenic. but you feel you’ve only walked the few hours to your house.
the secret is to count your steps.
