Time has a particular charm when you have so little of it.

It broadens the horizons of possibility, highlighting all the things you think you would miss.

It's funny how that charm dissipates when you have a bit more.

Then you think, 'I can do these things anytime.'

'I have all the time in the world.'

Never really liked that statement.

It assumes that you have time when really, time has you and at any moment, it could let you slip in between its  fingers.

To me, time is the opportunity I was given to know you.

If I was thankful for anything, it would be that time itself would not rob me of your memory.

And if I could wind myself back to the beginning, I wouldn't have used time for anything else.

Perhaps it's because my possibility was limited to you.

Nonetheless, I am not the kind that seeks out great beyonds men cannot fathom.

I am simple, in thought, in sentiment and in sincerity.

What matters is as simple as what was placed in front of me and in my case, that was you.

If life was a novel, I'd settle for a children's book  simply because I'd like to colour you in.

You would be the fox and I'd be the rabbit.
Then I'd be the wolf and you would be the moon.
You would be the sheep and I would be the night.
I would be the question and you would be a very convincing suggestion.

Answers are never set in stone.

It could've been you or someone else.

Destiny isn't as strict as they say.

Maybe that's what makes you special.

The fact that it could've been someone else but it ended up being you.

Destiny isn't destiny because it was always going to be you.

Destiny is destiny because it could have been someone else.

Every spontaneous choice that brought someone else closer was simply barreling me towards you.

But like I said, I'm not into big picture stuff.

Except if it's you behind the frame of course.

Still though, I'd like to keep it simple.

I didn't have much time to complicate things anyway.

Happiness had to be happiness. Sadness had to be happiness.
Despair had to be happiness.

I just didn't have time for anything else.

If I was to spend my time, I wanted to be smiling even while coughing up blood.
Smiling even while my insides were constantly erupting.

I wanted you to remember me smiling.
Smiles aren't genuine because all is well.
Smiles are genuine because we choose to smile regardless.
Sickness isn't enough to change that. Death isn't enough.

It might have been harder for you to smile and that's understandable.
My jokes aren't the best. But then I didn't have enough time to--

Never mind that.

What would actually constitute as enough time?

Even forever might not be enough time.

What I had with you is what I treasured, what I will and what I do.

Whether or not it will go beyond this is irrelevant.

What's important is that it mattered, however so briefly.

Maybe if I sticked around long enough I'd end up hating your guts.

Then I'd dig a hole in time and bury you there, as if you meant nothing.

More time. Hmph. More time.

Sometimes we make the most of it when it is scarce.

But I think the real deception is that we think there are times where it isn't.