Time? Why so bilis the time?

The eternal question of time. Why does time go by so fast when joy fills your self, while it goes by so agonizingly slow when you suffer? Last Saturday is one good example of the problem of time. You could think that 17 hours with the one you love is a lot of time, it is naught. Those 17 hours of perfect moments, undying passion and simple quantities of little joys went by like the autumn gale in the four seasoned countries. In those 17 hours there were a few hours of dread, hate and misery. Those few hours turned out to be days for me. Dread and hate, we were lucky I only got to know this the day after or else... Misery was the time spent alone, derived of her presence. Why is time like this? I wish time would just stop at the moment in which she lay beside me...