Fleeting Moments

Time. Funny thing it is. So bizarrely lively and fluid, while yet at the same time deceitfully quiet. It doesn’t really tell you what’s going on as you go along. It just moves along with you. Observed you, get into every single of your breath, side by side without disturbing the very soul in your heart.

It can be wonderful if you think about it. Because what is time if it’s not a reminder of our limitation. Help towards our expectation. Mirror to the reality.

People tend to think that moments and time can go together. Assumptions that together, they can make some sorts of dancing harmony around each other. Leading one another to something. Something.

But if I’m being honest, it hasn’t been the case so far.

The infinite trait of time, the illusion of having no visible limit, is the deceitful thing about time.

It degrades moments, it lessened importance, it takes away emphasize.

They glaze away what’s real and what’s not with hundreds, if not thousands of presumptuous layers. Yielding what people often call selfishness.

Depressing comfortableness.

Bringing you into being used to living with agony, with over awareness.

Like Meerkat in a lion’s den. Waiting to be preyed.

Do you know what’s worse?

Is that time, can talk.

And they have the tendency to be late. To be fucking too late.

When the moments are already gone. When agony is all that remains.

When what you can remember is twice the feeling of the moments, without ever knowing of any single possibility of having it back.

It just sorts of shy away quietly into the wilderness. And again, walk quietly beside you. Teasing every single breath that you take.

Only to once and a while gives you a tender whisper, reminding you of what you’ve thrown away.

Shit happens they say. Murphy’s law or whatever crap that is.

All I ever care about was that sip of coffee. All I ever care about was that gentle smile behind that mind-bogglingly wonderful talks. All I ever care about was that absurd jokes and laughs.

Home is never close enough after all.

Home might even be farther now and on.

Do you know what’s even worse?

Hope. . . . .



While Ye May

While Ye May ….

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