My time is all I have. It defines my existence. Actually, it owns me.
The happy or sad thing in this world is that we move forward or backward. No one stays still. Nothing stays still.
And, time... the bigger time, which started when it started, which "isn't our size" (Haruki Murakami), will go on and on with or without us. It leaves the memory of us like a fading smell of the grass as the spring slowly ends. Some lingers for a while, but in the end, surely, time would tell the world is too different for us. We stop moving forward or backward. We stay still.
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