Time never stands still but it would one day, perhaps.
Everyone knows that this old planet would reach its finality someday and the big question is 'WHEN'?
As I re-look at my life, I wonder how have I write it in between within the pages of time.
What is indeed life? It is a journey shaped by our choices and circumstances and fate being a big factor?
I have less than an hour to go to catch the trip down but I can't stop writing.
The thought of leaving yesterday's evening walk back my new home at the green park cemented with the bridges is painfully unpleasant.
How many hours do I have before I can make an ultimate stop and say , this is it, we are not moving anywhere further.
How many hours do I have before I can complete a brilliant manuscript to change the world to be a better place?
How many hours do I have to meet someone whom I have forgotten , those whom I want to extend my thanks?
With the ticking of the clock, I have to pack and leave in less than half an hour.
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