Time. Concept or noun, factor or an element, it remains the pivot in this mystery called life. Unravelling the truth behind the fiction, the untangling of the most esoteric dilemmas, I wait patiently for this maestro to deal my cards or rather to deal with me.
Perhaps, these so-called problems are but a figment of my paranoia, a mental disorder that originated from an over-analytical mind. There lies the paradox of my existence: too many seconds at hand and I slowly succumb to a psychological disarray of the highest degree versus the back to back busy as an ant phases where I revel in the emptiness and monotony of a busy schedule, all the time wondering if this is indeed life as we call it.
Scepticism versus idleness, most favour the former but I remain still in doubt. I do not know if I am waiting for disaster to strike on a full-fledged scale which time appears to be inching towards to and thus why begin endeavours that cannot be seen through anyway or wait for it all to blow over. There it is again the most annoying, back stressing, head hurting word in the english language: waiting.
Waiting for what? For things beyond my control to decapitate the happy life I so dearly desire or for happiness to finally arrive? So many questions and all dependent on time.
I shall wait patiently with this incessant fear of what time shall unveil.
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