My understanding leads me to believe that Time is my enemy, the thing that shall eventually grind me down into powder, but my heart says this is not so, that somehow, Time is more yielding than this.

But until this particular point is elucidated to me, I have no recourse but to ask, how much time dare I spend, and is this worth it? I have promised myself many a time that I would write a chronicle, that somehow, I shall make Time real by sharing it, but alas, I think it is undue pride that prevents me from narrating the mundane minutiae of my life.

So I am torn by the practical and the imaginary, that which must be and that which I wish. Must they always be adversaries? I wish it were not so, and yet, then I do not know which shall I try to affect, that which is already, or that which I wish to become.

No, at this juncture, I know what I cannot become, whether it is from lack of courage or true inability (although it’s usually always something intermediate.)

Then, why am I here?

It is simple to decide what I do not want, it has yet to be seen whether I can say what I do…