I’m starting to realize
that every day we stare at the clock,
silently urging its hands to continue moving forward.
“Hurry up!” we think to ourselves.
(Always in a rush to do this or get there)
What is the valid definition of time?
It can’t be
A forever uncontrollable cycle.
It’s something that can either
Soar like an eagle above us until we lose sight
or crawl slowly on its hind legs like a black bear through the forest.
“Once upon a time,” begins your favorite fairy tale.
“Time heals all wounds,” they tell you.
“Stop wasting time!” yells your mother.
But when will we cease counting the moments
and start living them?