The Weight of Time

Time moves with a relentless rhythm, An unyielding current, quietly pulling me through the sands of time. I often hear that life is fleeting, that moments slip away faster than I can grasp them, but there’s a deeper truth to this: it’s not just that time passes—it’s that I change with it, and with each passing second, I’m forced to reckon with who I was, who I am, and who I’m becoming.

What is it about time that feels so heavy? Perhaps it’s the realization that I can never truly hold onto a moment. I cling to the idea of the present, as if it could last forever, but it drifts like sand, slipping through my fingers. I spend my life trying to capture it, trying to freeze it in place. Yet, the more I try to keep time still, the more it eludes me. I’m never quite here; I’m always a step ahead or a step behind, forever chasing a future I can never fully reach, and a past that keeps fading into memory.

And still, there is something beautiful in that struggle. Time teaches me to appreciate the fleetingness of things, to find meaning in the impermanence. I love not because I am used to living, but because I am used to time’s passing—the way it shapes me, molds me, forces me to move. I become who I am because time carries me forward, and in each moment, I am reborn. The weight of time isn’t a burden; it’s a gift that reminds me of my capacity to grow, to evolve, to experience the world anew.

But the more I live with time, the more I realize that it is not time itself that makes life precious—it’s the choices I make within it, the love I give, the connections I forge. Time may be heavy, but in that weight, I find my purpose. Each passing moment is both a loss and a gift—a reminder that while time moves in one direction, my heart, my dreams, and my capacity to love still have the power to move me, to shape me, to make me who I am.