My fingers can not clench tight enough to hold the seconds that slip by. There is not enough strength in these arms to hug close the minutes that fly past. My hands are powerless against the unswerving hands of the clock. Time quietly but steadily moves ever forward. We can not stop it, can not slow it, can not even negotiate an extra fleeting blink within its stride toward another day. The best we can hope for is a stray February 29 and the chance of making the most of an extra 24 hours. In this I am guilty of wasting those precious moments, of forgetting the importance of not allowing them to get away, of making the most of my time, here and now and always.
Four years have disappeared since my words have danced across the page, moving along with the clicking of the keys and tapping of my fingers. A decade has somehow become history since the first words were carefully chosen to bring my thoughts to light. The collective meaning of those words is important, at their least to me, but even more important is the silence since that last word saw light. I have been absent too long, from this page, from these words, from life and the vigilance of time. It is an endless debate of which is more important, the passage of time, the recording of that passage and the events it held, or the ability to be present within that present. And in this, I have become complacent, negligent, wasting precious ticks without ever memorializing them. Good or bad, hard times or the happiest of days, mundane chores or intoxicating experiences, achievements and milestones, many things have passed and all of them need to be written in the history book that makes up my life.
Today I hope to continue my acknowledgement of the days I have let slip by and the days yet to come and all the tales that are contained within and never to allow such careless or irresponsible waste happen again. I have been too cavalier with the clock and do not wish to look back only to see that I have not made the most of the short time I have been given. I have become older, grayer. My children, all of a sudden, are not growing but are grown, flowing into their independence. No matter how the time accumulates it will never be enough to see everything, do everything, feel everything that could fill a life but I intend to not allow anymore to pass unnoticed.
