time.

When did it start? Where does it end?
Time is infinite, it´s independent in such a way it molds over the old, devours the present, and stalks the new without the consent of thy follower nor thy path. When time is at the essance it passes by in fast paces swallowing hours like minutes and minutes like seconds. When time is pleaded to accelerate, it crawls in slow lurches, ignoring the favor of one´s desire. Behind each angry beginning lurks a vast pool of hurt in which we bathe in our own memories and pain. What is the extent of such ravishing demeanor? Shall we wait for mercy to be thrust upon us, or must we cogitate over are own hurt in an imperciptable manner to finish heeling the scars? Is time in our favor? or is it our enemy? Against all odds we fight to forget the things that we want to rememeber, and remember the things that are yet forgotten. We musn´t feed the greed of our violent pleasures for they have violent ends. Remember that life is the meaning of what you make of it. Once you feel sorrowness you'll understand happiness and once you live pain you will conquer love, and with love you'll learn the value of life, the value of time.