The only currency that people actually possess is time. Time, in the sense of our own, personal time we have to spend on the Planet. So it becomes of crucial importance whom and what do we spend our time on.
There is no refund for the time spent. There is no contract offered to loan more time in case ours becomes limited. And there is no guarantee that we won’t run out of time at any given point in our lives.
So, don’t tell me the time I spent on you and you spent on me has no value. It’s like investing all your money in building a house and then leaving it empty, leaving it to time to rot and destroy. It’s not even like renting it or leaving it to the homeless people to live in. It’s like absolutely wasting it, locking it, nailing the windows with wood and leaving it to decay.
The question of time always evokes questions about waste. So there are at least two stimuli in a person’s life – making good choices about time and avoid time waste. All else is a subject to negotiation. But time never is.
Source – Pinterest. Artist unknown.
I’ve had the urge of the young writer to write about everything that had happened to me, instead of to write about what matters. I’ve been writing things to people, about people, for people, giving it to people to read, dedicating writings to people, posting it on social media without even realizing my own preaching – that words are not free. They cling to people, to hearts, to minds. I believed that was the only way to be true to oneself and to the world. But it is not. To be true means to find the truth in everything and say it, write it, shout it, if you will. Everything else is bragging about your own personal drama, which is not interesting anyways because everybody has got their own.
One might say that I am a lost little girl who does not know what she wants and probably will never know. To those I have nothing to say.
But one may also acquit me of my guilt and say that I am just trying to find out what the hell am I and what the hell have I, so I don’t rot before my actual expiration date. That I have actually grown up, of course with help from other s. To that person, or if I am lucky enough, those people, I owe much of what I have become and will become. All I can say is a mere thank you and give my love.
Yes, I believe we have an expiration date. It is all about how much from the world you can take. Some people die young and continue to live as empty bodies. Others die young but continue stronger than ever, however, with a changed form. But we do expire. The good thing is that we can do something about it afterwards. But nobody can do it for us; everybody has their own battle to fight. And this fight goes until the real expiration date comes – the expiration date of the body in which you live in, the one that you cannot escape.
These are the first few meaningful sentences that I have written in months and they sound like a damned confession of somebody who has been away for too long. I am too young to have been away for too long. And I am too young to know anything whatsoever. I can only guess what it all means; and guessing has always been fun. It’s almost like gambling with life and not knowing if you’ll get the poor hand or not.
17th of January 2017