i saw an elderly man today at war with gravity. i watched him tumble on the time-made incline of the pavement. he laid there with his cane in one hand and a crumpled ball of tissue in the other and wiped at his bleeding nose. we didn't know him but we stopped being bystanders and rushed over to help him up. nameless characters peeled off the backdrop like paper dolls in a children's activity book and everyone's faces were fraught with worry for the poor guy. he couldn't speak english so our barrage of questions likely confused his bedraggled and weary state even more. eventually a woman who spoke his tongue came to his aid and we later walked in the same direction and saw her tugging onto his arm, leading him where he needed to be. he still looked as detached from the scene as he did earlier.

i wonder if i'll be like that when i'm, let's say, 72. i don't want to be helpless but i'm scared that's all it comes down to. sometimes i feel burdened by the thought of time constantly passing, by the stolid fact that the progression of time will always be continuous. a never doesn't exist, and some things have to be inevitable.

i can say i wish that time would just stop even briefly but even then i'd just be wasting time.

what does it take to chisel time?
what does it take to structure a fully lived life?