5 you said?

5 minutes are bliss. When I pull the blanket over my head and snooze off every morning. 5 minutes are comfort. In the examination hall. 5 minutes are a savior. When the death of deadline is pushed.
5 minutes are enlightenment. At the coffee vending machine in office. 5 minutes are perfection. When I garnish the dish before it is attacked. 5 minutes are confusion. When with a handful of gel I try another hairstyle, and, in the same breath go back to the previous one. 5 minutes are flash-back. When I spot a primary-school friend in a crowded mall. 5 minutes are an hour. As I wait for my mother to walk out of my room before I swap the channel. 5 minutes are forgettable. When I gave my first extempore speech. 5 minutes are nail-biting. As I search my name in the passing-out list. 5 minutes are consequential. When the principal notices it is me booing the guest speaker. 5 minutes are a hunt. When one sock is in my hand and the other is god-knows where. 5 minutes are a challenge. As I try to convince my professor that I lost my assignment on way to college. 5 minutes are critical. When I am trying to control my bowel movement and at the same time speeding to reach home sooner. 5 minutes are fidgety. As I keep looking at the phone waiting for it to ring.
5 minutes are all the same. As I drive down the highway for miles and miles. 5 minutes are technologically challenged. As I leaf through the user’s manual of my fancy new gadget. 5 minutes are yes-no yes-no yes-no. When my father asks me to attend a relative’s wedding. 5 minutes are a discovery. When I am cleaning my room after ages. 5 minutes are a battle. As I bargain to buy my stuff at my price. 5 minutes are frozen. And I can go back to it in the photo album. 5 minutes are life. When I say no to burning it away at the end of a cigarette.