The art of passing time

Tick tock tick tock. The hours pass by and you wonder just how many you have left. All these wasted hours on hobbies that leave you feeling empty inside and you wonder, what makes me tick? What is the driving force behind my existence, and when will my clock seize to strike? In what hour and what minute and what second will my clock stop just as abruptly as it started, and what happens if I am not ready? What happens if I have dreams left to dream and wishes to wish and places to see? What happens then? What if I fail to say goodbye to loved ones, or what if I fail to say I love you at all? What happens then? Everyone is so focused on the hustle and bustle of the busy streets, so busy honking and driving and cursing.. They forget to stop and be mesmerized by the blurring of the colors as the cars speed by. They neglect to notice the fading colors on the rickety old coffee shop they love. They simply cannot swim in their favorite river and feel the sweet serendipity of the cold water engulfing them. They run past the roses on the sidewalk, forgetting entirely how the smell reminded them of their mother's perfume, sweet and welcoming.  They are in too much of a hurry to move on to the next stage, or the next chapter, or the next city that they simply forget the most important aspect of this life. TO LIVE. The clock is constantly ticking, and eventually it will seize. I hope and pray that when your clock seizes, you are amidst people, hobbies, and places you love, because in the end you're the one left with your own unhappiness. And in the end, you are the only one to blame.