There is no time to live life anymore, the pressure of the clock weights on my shoulders and pushes me to move move move. Just a moment ago I was in my early twenties, and now I am at the end of that journey. Chances are I will be ten years behind everyone else my age, and why? Because I wanted to take my time. Is that so wrong?
I wish I had time to read more, to write more, to create more. I wish I had more time to spend with God. I can’t just give him fifteen minutes and then walk away. I want to give him a morning, or an evening.
There isn’t anymore time to fall in love or be in love. I have to make a decision if I like someone even before I know them, other wise the crowd of people will bug until I give them an answer. I shall answer, “Give me time!”
There isn’t any time to think and wait to make a decision. The cashier clerk pushes you out-of-the-way to get to the next person, the friend text you to hang out minutes before the event, my co-workers tell me to do something with no time to think but only to respond.
Is the fact that I feel like there isn’t any time due to my mismanagement of life? Or can I sit here and blame it on the culture. This is why I wanna run away to an island that has no time. Maybe when time no longer matters, it’s what life is supposed to feel like. To live it out and not get push and shoved through it.