Where does wasted time go?
Is there a graveyard for it?
A place where a person can pluck it off the shelf, dust it off and use it up more wisely?
Maybe even hand my wasted time over to a person or pet that's dying.
Like bestowing a gift.
I think of all the time that I have wasted in my life ...and I feel like weeping.
But then, I wonder--was it really wasted?
If I wasnt constantly in motion, producing something or thinking deeply, does that nullify the fact that I just....was?
Being me. Isnt that enough?
We are all just part of the fabric that will eventually fade. Muted colors will whiten and vibrant colors will pale. New fabric will be woven, stronger and different--but never exactly like the previous.
In my recent downtime, I discovered that time marches on, with or without us in it.
The passage of time is the only constant in the here and now.
.....tick tock....tides turning....leaves falling....newborn babies...
You know, much as I hate change--I wouldnt have it any other way.
