My heart was ready. Finally. After so many years of being uncertain and gradually pulling down the pieces of me struggling to break the surface; I can breath. I see the blue sky and the shore. I feel the gentle wind, assisting me across the waves. I hear the seagulls cries of joy and I bask in the warm suns rays. I taste the drying salt on my lips and allow them for the first time in so many years a chance to peel back in a gradual, enlightening smile. And as I float closer to a safe shore, I smell flowers and the fresh buds of leaves growing on the trees. I am ready. Beyond ready, to float to safety and peace. My heart has yearned for so long to break free of the waters dark expanse, and all I had to do was let go. To let go of the girl who was always waiting so heartbreakingly for a life raft. And instead become the woman who learned to float and breath and love the simplest pleasures of my senses guiding me to safety. Just let go. Let go, and be.

Without past, without intervention,
it is spectating.
Memories are few,
present is new,
none can see, and none can hear,
the role of a spectator.
To see yet not do,
to hear yet not say,
spectator are lonely beings.

The wine I am tasting has just been tasted,
The perfume I am smelling has just been smelled,
The song I am hearing has just been heard,
The girl I am seeing has just been seen,
The skin I am touching has just been touched,
The many things I am thinking have just been thought,
These lines I am writing have just been written,
Are we then just living in the immediate past?

If time is relative, can now be extended?
Should we rather think of now as time-limited actions?
I will be drinking this wine until the last drop has sunk
I will be smelling this perfume until my receptors are saturated
I will be hearing this song until the battery lets me down
I will be seeing this girl until she disappears in the wild and out of my mind
I will be touching this skin until I am crippled by cramps
I will be thinking until my brain is starving
I will be writing these lines until an elusive timepoint
If these events take several minutes, several hours, or several days,
Is tomorrow then also now?

Can now be stopped?
Suspended, unanimated, just like a broken clock.
At the speed of light time does cease to exist.
Can I then slow now down when I run a sprint?
Now equals present, just like a gift
While present can lead to taking the final lift.
Can now happen when we are not?
Free of life, lying down, some with the precious key to the holy padlock.
Can now (truly) be synchronized when we live on different time-zones?
Different countries, different continents, different rhythms in similar ringtones.

How long is now?
As long as the finite time
Between the moment we’ve left the past
And the moment before we step into the future.
This sticking junction that can never be past.

Death blindfolds Its weakest target before It strikes efficiently.
When the gaze can be met without knowledge,
Five senses complete are heightened in an explosive state.
Their ears tick and shatter at the sound of their own helplessness,
Tumbling from their newly rented lips.
The taste of blood becomes evident upon their tongue.
Their feelers reach peak for safety,
But can only grasp thin oxygen.
The smell of It’s cologne chokes their lungs before Its grand attack.
It, the Grim Reaper;
The blindfold is removed from the target.
The command is uttered.
Consuming black is introduced as the new light entirely.
Death draws the dying’s ending breath for decorated delight.