every day is a quest, every hour a storm. every minute you waste is a minute to mourn. every dollar you save is a minute lost. walking towards our grave is money worth its cost? this life is way too short to blind yourself, to mislead yourself and to dedicate even one precious second to something that’s not worth it. and on my deathbed i don’t wanna hear myself go “just one more day”, i wanna have got it made. i don’t want my dreams, that once seemed so nearby to become splinters in my heart, aching when another chance is passing by. i don’t want to be a slave to my fears, waste all of these years, subdue my emotions while standing in the back telling myself lies. “every second is one more heartbeat ticking away.”* every second is a chance slipping through our hands. what are we striving for? what am i writing for? what are we striving for? is my time well wasted?
