Time

Time is indifferent. It moves forward, unyielding, unconcerned with how we spend it. We are merely passengers, carried through its ceaseless current—into the future… which becomes present… which becomes past. Our lives blur, a fleeting moment in the vast cosmic scale. Yet, within this moment lies our eternity. Here, we have a chance to look back at time, to grapple with impermanence, and to face our own mortality. But time itself remains unaffected by whether we seize that chance or let it slip away.

We like to believe we have time, as if it were something to possess. But if anything, time has us. We do not wield it—it does not pass; we pass through it. Yet we make plans as if time will bend to our desires, and we reflect on the past as if we commanded its unfolding. But time is not our tool, nor our adversary. It has no stake in our success, no interest in our failures.

Time is merely the stage upon which existence plays out—the scaffolding for all things, including our own lives. It is the endless procession of moments, advancing whether we act or stand still. Unlike time, we will die. But also unlike time, we get to live.

Embrace each moment—not because you will never get it back, but because you are the only one who can.