I wrote down this entry almost 2 years ago, and yet I wrote nothing. I suppose that is the finality of time now isn’t it? To haunt in every corner, to tug at every smile, to drag the clouds across the sky. And yet, we put so much certainty into it. We put so much faith into something that is deemed as an illusion. We put faith in an inconvenience… I suppose that truly shows the type of society we are. I suppose it truly shows just what type of world we live in. One where people put faith in illusions, instead of God. One where people who can’t handle change crave it. One where those who deserve happiness don’t always get it. One where right is wrong and wrong is right. One where not much makes sense. One that feels doomed from the start. That’s where the story should end really… That’s where the horror of time should’ve done all that it could possibly do, but you see, that’s the thing about time, there’s too much of it, at times we simply don’t know what to do with it. That’s when it becomes painfully obvious: Time is not a death sentence, it is not a crime or a retort. Time is the flowing of history. Time is the stuff of our very stars. Time is where the broken pieces of our souls lie, simply waiting to be discovered. Time is where we find peace, and where we find clarity. Time, once our loss, proves in fact to be our gain. People forget that time, while cruel, is also our greatest friend, it stays with us, even when we see the end. It holds our hands in the moments we need it most, comes to comfort us just when it seems too close. It weeps for us and seeps into every corner of our lives, even whilst we sleep. So yes, we can hate time, we can loathe it with no avail, but why hate a thing that has not yet failed? Why hate a thing that has not yet gone and left a trail?