Time is like a handful of sand, the tighter you grasp it, the faster it runs through your fingers.
We try to hold on to ourselves as is— but like sand —our days, our time and eventually who we could be fall from our hands. The latter is quite possibly the greatest tragedy of human existence.
You are meant to be weathered like the sands upon a beach, those of a smoldering dessert or even that which treks along a river bed. Each storm that shifts you, and each water that smooths you produces an even better, more refined version of you. If you observe sand being blown about in a hurricane or sand storm you will notice, no two grains are blown the same. Each granule must weather its own rising and falling. Be like sand.
Each grain is a beach within itself. Each grain of sand holds a reflection of a well-weathered beach. Within its crystallization is a story — one which only that particular grain of sand can tell. Yes, it shares a similar tale with all of the other grains of sand along the beach, but its journey is always its own.
Be like sand.
Go count each grain of the sands of time and know that is how much I love you.
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