Time, a passenger that is always there with us, sometimes invisible, sometimes visible, always inevitable, metaphysical it can be. Something we defined through realizations of nature, through realizations of us humans, outer and inner views. We can keep it in our hands, in our heads, in our minds to go forward, to go high, or it can build around us like a void that really was our creation, our lack of consistency with losing the sight of the mountain high.
We can blame it, reason it, other synonym it, but it doesn’t care, because it can paddle without us or it doesn’t have to paddle at all. By keeping it, by furnishing it, by embracing it, our boat can turn into a ship, our paddle can turn into a machine. By letting it go, disappear, don’t bother us, us? Our satisfactional desires, we will turn to our selfish selves, our rational selves and do the first sentence in this paragraph… it is enough.
Just like the dust sleeping in the air, in the bottom nor the top, feeling the slight “wind” with closed eyes, not caring at all, not caring of getting lost. But the dust, time, we must take at hand, grow together, be the friend, be the benchmark for the success, or flight for the art.
As you read, do you care, if the time that is at your hand, is thrown over the hills or below the flame, that you may know by the boring voices, where you responded with I know it all. In the end we watch the past, turn the past pages, and realize, why didn’t I listen, I mean why did I only look at the pictures that were easier where in fact they are the reasons of dismissing the important memories that later turn to stu*** reasons.
But it is not late, the passenger is forever and still here, in the car that which we still and forever may drive, be it fast or be it slow, please just don’t be it reverse that mostly unfortunately is. Even if the hole is deep and can be deeper, which you don’t want to be but have to do, driven by the cursed desires, like a webbed slave controlled by the first move, to take the magical thing that turned to be by a witch rather than a fairy which you thought, which the circumstances made it the only choice to rejoice… but the sun is still up.
You drive it from here, not letting go of the passenger, helping him, helping you, to drive to the furthest, to drive to the limit of the purpose, even if it can bother, even if it can be sweet to blame, in the end it is our decision, wrong move, black pictures that our eyes see, that we thought were bright, don’t let your sentences regarding the past start with why didn’t I, let them be, it is good that I.