I am almost two billion seconds old. All those moments to think of writing something magical or something lighter than air. All those moments succeeding and failing. It's a lot of ticks on the clock. As meaningful as one wishes to be the effort goes both noticed and unnoticed.
As if one moment could be discerned over another. Are there moments like no other moments? The long moments and the short moments and the moments that come once in a lifetime. They seem impervious to everything. Except poetry or fiction. The right moment is little different from the wrong moment.
All this time I've been missing something. And then there's all that I've found. The most amazing things come so suddenly. They pass quickly, more quickly with each passing year. Yet one savors all these and awaits the moments that bear something new or beautiful. Or perhaps take something that one cannot bear to part with. Or never knew one had to begin with. Until it was missing. That small part of us that makes believe in ourselves.
And now for the next billion seconds. One, two, three...
