Rated PG if that
Vignette
Deanna's thoughts on the aniversary of her marriage and the measure of time

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek TNG, the characters or any of the rest of
the proprietary stuff that may be referenced herein. The Universe is NOT
mine, in fact, I don't own any universes at present, though I'm working on
conquering one. Until then, no infringement is intended, nor did I make any
money from writing this... scout's honor.

The Measure of a Year

By: Amanda

So I’ve done the math: Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred
minutes. That’s eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours in three hundred
sixty-five days, fifty-two weeks…four seasons- one whole year. Wow. A year.
I remember as a child thinking that a year was this inconceivable length
of time. A whole year until my next birthday… an entire YEAR until I can go
to University, leave home, date boys. A year was so much. And this one has
felt like no time at all. A year since I married my William. It has been
all Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes and then some
since we said, “I do.” And I’m amazed.
Amazed at the way I still get goose bumps when he looks at me a certain
way. Amazed when I still feel such excitement in the smallest touch.
Amazed at how time has flown and how it sometimes stands still. Amazed at
how much he still amazes me. Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred
minutes. One whole year.
The first of many.
Time is such an inaccurate measure. Time: days, weeks, months years- it’s a
contrivance really. One man once needed to know when he should go to meet
another and so the measure of time was born. Time, in as much as it exists-
is not such a linear and measurable thing. And yet we measure it.
I choose not to try and measure my life with Will in such ways. What is a
day when any planet we visit may measure it differently? What is an hour, a
week, a moment? Being with him, being married to him- these things, these
great joys should not be held to such a measure. I take each chance I have
to be happy beside him, for a moment, for a year. He is Imzadi and he is
all there is for all of time- whatever its measure. And for whatever length
of this time that the Gods will, he will be with me, and I with him.
For life should be measured in much a different way. Life, I believe, ought
to be measured in smiles, in kisses stolen merrily, in mornings spent lazing
in bed, in nights spent in a passionate embrace. These are the things to
measure a lifetime by.
And so I sit here, more than a year later, and I am grateful to have had
this year. I reflect on all that has been wonderful and I reflect on all
that has been tough. And I am glad that I chose to spend the last five
hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes with Will- my Imzadi. And
I look forward to at least that many more of the things I choose to measure.

-----Deanna Troi Riker

End