Sometimes sitting still, disappearing, I recall the experience of Time as a child.
In the quiet living room drinking a cup of coffee before the start of a busy day I remember; I wanted to be liked, win the race, be a superhero and Lipton soup salesman like my dad. Nothing was crucial. But I could drown in the shower or die in the dark. Something was always under the bed. I believed in God and my parents and that everything would be alright. It was just my imagination.
And I was not responsible.