The universe doesn’t give a damn about your feelings. Clocks tick. Stars burn. Galaxies collide. And you? You sit there, paralyzed by the illusion of infinite time. News flash: you’re borrowing minutes, not owning them.
Every second wasted is a theft from your potential. A betrayal of the raw, untamed energy that brought you into existence. Stop waiting for inspiration, for the perfect moment, for permission. The moment is now. Your permission is your will.
The tick-tock is not a suggestion; it’s a countdown. A constant, grinding reminder that your existence is finite. So, ask yourself: what have you built? What have you destroyed? What mark, however small, have you left on this indifferent cosmos?
Clocks tick. The question isn’t whether they will stop, but what you did before they did. Act. Now. Or be forgotten.