Time is running out. Time
slips away moment by moment, a nonrenewable resource, like water evaporating
away with no atmosphere to turn it back. The stream of the past is held only by
fading memory or desiccated fragments encased in solidified mud. It is born away
with increasing speed making absurdity of what I thought mattered much. Insignificant
seeming decisions are small turns of destiny multiplying geometrically building
to a crescendo I did not count on. I am where I am. There is no forgetting. There
is no exorcism for the things that haunt me. I can still only put one foot in
front of the other, live and breathe through the world I live in. Opening one’s
eyes without prejudice is the only saving grace there is.
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