1110. XIV. 14.

The year 2222 is not that far away.

A little over 200 years.
A blink of the eye.
A breath of the world.

Not long ago people lived through the year 1111 and before that, though they didn’t know it, the year before year one. We pride ourselves on numbers. We construct ourselves from them. We chop up the years and we chop up ourselves. Segmenting our lives with a day for a year. Just numbers even so.

Before, things would happened. It was smooth. Before we counted out the seconds, things just lived. Now we use time, lose time. Play with time. We waste time, and we kill time. With numbers. With clocks and tic-tocks. With the boredom we found as the hands turn round.

The millennium was celebrated by millions of people, watching the clocks tip over to zero. They did not celebrate together, locked in isolated zones, but they all counted down. Then they forgot and the numbers kept spinning.

In a while it will be the year before year one once more and not one of us will care, not one of us will know.

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