Passing Time

Although I’m still young, with each passing year I see that my memories are not only happy and sad artifacts, but reminders of my own mortality. The grief and happiness of yesterday is inextricably tied with the bittersweet acknowledgement that there was a yesterday, and that it will never be lived again.

In the face of this it seems like the only available option is acceptance of what is, and the reality that time must pass. And in the face of that, the decision of whether to live in the moment and for the future, or to ruminate on the past.

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