There's a sick and twisted saying that I've heard all too many times: time is limited. Time has no limit. Time exists in its own entitlement. It always has been and always will be. It has given birth and it has taken life. Time plays by no moral code. It does not judge what is has done like we do. It simply precedes on the path it sees fit. We have to coexist with time. We have to learn how to understand time and it't awful sense of mortality. Because that's all we are, right? We are a bunch of animals floating ominously through millions of years of space with an unknown amount of time.
Our time is far from limited. No animal is woken from birth with a clock counting down to his final moments; instead, we are just fed the idea that we will someday die and wither away. We have no idea when and where it will happen, or even why. All we have is the guarantee of death. The guarantee of the unknown.
What can we do to stop time and its awful habits? Nothing. We have to sit and watch it play its deadly hand on all of us. Its fingers intertwining with our own. Its disturbing face, smiling at what you can and never will know. Time is a god. Time is the creator of life and the destroyer of life. Time is success. Time is failure. Time is love. Time is heartbreak. Time is.