By tonyes on Skatehive
"Time didn't wait for me." That phrase resonates like an echo that arrives too late, when there's nothing left to do but contemplate what could have been and wasn't. For years, I believed time was a silent ally that would await my decisions, that would pause for my hesitations, that would stretch out like a summer afternoon so I could say "tomorrow." But time doesn't negotiate. It grants no extensions and listens to no excuses. I remember the projects I put off: the book I never started, the trip always postponed until next year, the love I lost for thinking about tomorrow, the call I didn't make in time. I thought I'd have another chance, another perfect moment where all the pieces would fit. But perfect moments don't exist; they are an invention of fear disguised as waiting. Meanwhile, time continued its inexorable course, plucking leaves from calendars, tracing wrinkles, sweeping people away without warning. There's something cruel about discovering that we are not masters of time,