Time is but a constant among our desires to achieve.
How much would be able to comprehend the likelihood of our future. The success we gauge on the time after us. After all, would we not require the guts to pave ourselves that road? The display of confidence among leveled shoulders, we passively interact with. Time is but a constant among our desires to achieve. We would encounter nothing but a journey through the beat. So help us, one vast reach into the sky is ever comparable to guessing the wrinkles of man behind a curtain. If every lapse in a moment's notice, were a mass falling through the void; I'd wish for a fill of light throb and emulate the walls ahead. Only then, would life be easy. Life as seen worth planned, after all that living.