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To me it proves that life and time are not in sync. It's as if time was all wrong and the wife's life was lived on the wrong bank of the river or, worse yet, on two banks, with neither being the right one. None of us may want to claim to live life in two parallel lanes but all have many lives tucked beneath or right alongside the other. Some lives wait their turn because they haven't been lived at all, while others die before they've lived out their time, and some are waiting to be relived because they haven't been lived enough. Basically, we don't know how to think of time, because time couldn't care less what we think of time, because time is just a wibbly, unreliable metaphor for how we think about life. Because ultimately it isn't time that is wrong for us, or we for time. It may be life itself that is wrong.
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