Every moment that passes by takes with it the story it held, carefully cupped within its palm. Often they go unnoticed, unheard. Solely because you were too busy to separate the moments from the time that flew by. But since I do have a lot of time to watch the moments, I do notice a thing or two. I turn a corner and catch a glimpse. Or hear a murmur. A dusty shelf. A gray head. A forgotten corner. At times the slanted rays of the sun, or the drizzle outside, even that old, decaying house that I pass by – each tries to tell me that story it has been carrying with it. The story that no one noticed nor cared to hear.
But I can do no more than notice or hear the murmur. The moments pass by me and the stories disappear forever. And I watch helplessly.
That is where I stand these days, watching every moment rushing past me. I will to jump at the next moment, catch a story and pin it down. Tether it. But the mind, I find, is unwilling still, for reasons unknown to me. The mind has a few secrets that it keeps from me. I know that I can never go back to those moments. Nor will they ever return to me. But reasoning with my unreasonable mind seems too daunting, too.