This minute's hand looked scared; so I took it in my own.
"It's okay" I whispered, "you don't have to be afraid."
"But what if I didn't do enough?" The passing minute asked, fear escaping each syllable.
"Then that's on me." I comforted the fragile measure of moments. "I could have started or finished a dozen things, over and over again. Your only job is to carry on. Mine is to do the best with the rest."
"Where will I go from here?" The minute asked. Their fears not quite abated.
"Oh!" I exclaimed. "You get to join every other minute that has passed from first till now. Where all time winds and weaves into the mosaic of all history. Some moments so mighty they shook the rest into place. Some so small, they hid from memory. Some came and went without anyone even noticing."
"And me." Asked this minute, their time almost an end, "how will I compare to all those many minutes?"
I summoned my most comforting smile, one I reserve for loved ones and lullabies, and answered simply, "Only time will tell. But I am glad I got to spend this minute with you."
With an appreciative sigh and a smile of their own, I let go the minute's hand.
And watched it pass by.
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