The ticking. Always the ticking. Ignore the saccharine platitudes about ‘living in the moment’. The moment is a razor’s edge. Before? Regret. After? Fear. Clocks mock your fleeting now. Each tick a theft. Each tock a reminder of entropy’s inexorable march. You are bleeding seconds. You are leaking life.
So what, then? Despair? No. Recognition. Acceptance. This gnawing awareness is the engine of action. Every second is a cost. Spend it wisely. Meaningfully. Deliberately. Or be consumed by the great forgetting.
Stop reading. Do. Now. Your clock is running.