From a time in my life when I was afraid I’d waste so much time;
And time, as it always does, will pass. Days will still go by. They may have no life in them, no excitement, nothing to look forward to, and no passion; but they will not linger. They will go by. They will not remember that I lived in desperation, begging them to come with something more; to bring some jump to my soul; to be bright and full of colourful bubbles. They will quickly forget that I sat by and waited for life itself to grant me the things I should have worked for and hand me prizes for things I’d made the mistake of giving up on. They will sneer at the fact that I watched other people thrive instead of survive, that I celebrated when other people achieved their dreams while I passively pondered upon mine. And they will not sneer for long, for they don’t dwell on things not done but on things that are done, because something is greater than nothing.
They will sigh a little, not from annoyance, but from disappointment because I wasted their time. In twenty four hours, a single day, others will have dreamt a thousand dreams and made a thousand realities, while I just sat and looked on. And the days will feel betrayed and hollow for I threw them away like the kind of smelly garbage everyone’s always eager to get rid of. They will not even bother to look back because they’ll not think me worthy of craning their necks so hard. So they’ll give up and move on, they’ll have given me their chance. It comes once. A day, two, three, three hundred. They’ll never return for a second round. And they’ll be gone, and I’ll be here, having had a feast in front of me from which I refused to eat.
Maybe one day, the days will come back and I can ask them for forgiveness. I can tell them of all the new plans I’ve come up with and how it can all be worked out. We can plan new things together, have new visions and dream new dreams. We can rewind to those wasted days and fill them with passion and action and love; we can make them worthwhile. I feel the jitters now; they’re butterflies in my gut; we are going to re-write history! This is hope!
That was hope. There’s this thing called logic, though. Guess what logic tells me. Days indeed never return. So I’ll just never get back my wasted time.