13 February 2015


When we were too busy trying to define our emotions in words, life simply happens.
We could not stop the passing of time, unless you’re Piper Halliwell or Hiro Nakamura. Hey but even if they could manipulate time, they could never stop it from fleeting.
There’s the beauty of it all, underlying just beneath the mundane routine of life. The motion, the order of nature, the passing of seasons. And as much as we thought it underlies us, it also envelops us within – all aspects of our lives are only a function of time.
The beauty of it all lies in the constant motion towards the end of time, not even one second skipped. We bear witness of this vicious shift for each passing second, yet we have no say in it at all. We could only let it be, for that’s the only say we have in this. Let it be. Time is very near; it’s omnipresent, but it’s never within our grasp or whim to control.
The clock ticking away and time becomes a temporary mechanism of which any given event is addressed at, but never has it become a permanent sentient. The passing of time is ironically the only thing constant, making other parameters of the equation as the responding variables.
We wonder, how short our life is, because we could never tell the definite end of it. It’s just through the passing of others do we realise how relatively short our life is.
What we manage to make within this short span of time is what matters; as life happens within this very tiny frame. Then what really matters? Why do we have to let our hearts continue to be broken, our souls to be shattered, our minds to be harassed if life is indeed, too short?
Why do we have to create enemies, hurt our friends, and stop loving if in the end it doesn’t matter? Not to you, not to me, not to God even. Because in the end we will all end up perished, expire. This is too small to compare to the gift of life. Why not we cherish every moment passing with love, knowing that happiness and pain are just another function of time but what we choose between these two is what defining our temporal existence?
And tick tock still, our time ticks away.

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