For what does time slither by, so insidiously, to no avail? For whom does it do so?
The birth and death of the Sun means nothing, to those who look upon the world through deadfish eyes. Stagnant they are, to them, nothing moves, the seasons mere annoyances to contend with, calendars but desktop paperweights to chalk and murder the passage of time.
The rebirth of the sun, the rise of the full moon, is for those with wonder in their eyes and see opportunity in the turn of the day. They have a goal, and each day passes with bated breathe, controlled excitement; as the attainment of it draws closer.
This wasn't intended to be an optimistic post, though. Was merely reflecting on how things sometimes seem so meaningless, and wondering, how I could get myself out of this rut, to put some life into my eyes, passion into my step and imbue my actions with purpose and meaning. Sometimes I think we're too jaded; made to grow up too fast that all semblance of youthful vigour has been stripped away.
But it doesn't have to be that way.
It doesn't.
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