time.
I don't think that I have ever gone through time as quickly as I have in the last eight months. They tell you that "time flies when you're having fun." I was never told that time also flies when you are just desperate for time to slow down. I have the exact same amount of days, hours, minutes, and seconds that I have had in every other year. Yet, somehow they still feel shorter.
I have turned into an hourglass, my sand falling in a countdown towards the end. Who am I to try and ask for more time?
I wither away my seconds, sacrifice them to my stress, to my goals, to my future. I lecture others on work-life balance in a world where I have lost mine.
I know my time is money, my time is valuable, my time is a gift.
But my life gives me deadlines.
My body is a capitalist. It tells me that if I invest my time now, it will return tenfold.
Maybe this was true when I was a child, wishing to be older. But I think the value of time has gone through inflation. Only, my exchange rate is still the same as it was when I was seven years old.
I ask again: Who am I to try and ask for more time?
There is no more time for the world to give me.
So I sit and I type and I try. And the world keeps tick, tick, ticking by.